


Café MacBean

by Shadowheartdesigns (shadowkitten)



Category: Princess Principal (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Revolution, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other Additional Tags May Be Added As Needed, Some M/F Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2019-11-15 13:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 64,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18074057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowkitten/pseuds/Shadowheartdesigns
Summary: There was no revolution.Daisy MacBean opens a café.Fresh out of the orphanage, Ange le Carré becomes a waitress there.Their customers will include factory workers, clerks, students, laundresses,a Princess, a Clockwork Girl, and a Samurai.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story will include most of the canon characters from the anime series as it goes on, though only the three POV characters (Dorothy, Ange, and Charlotte) have been tagged. Similarly, other relationships may form, but the central two (Ange/Dorothy and Ange/Charlotte) are the only ones that will be tagged.  
> "Some M/F Elements" means bisexual Daisy and period-typical attitudes. There will be a little bit of M/F flirtiness, but femmeslash is the endgame for the story.

She usually wakes up before her alarm clock sounds. The room is always dark, with only the thinnest sliver of yellow from the streetlights dribbling in past the curtains. She sits up slowly in bed, yawning and stretching. Just as she reaches for it, the alarm begins ringing. She winces, and fumbles with the levers and knobs at the back, finally pressing in the one that stops the little hammer from going back and forth.

She sighs, and sets the clock down. It always happens this way, it seems. With another yawn, she pulls herself up to her feet, and pads over to her closet. She pulls down a tight green dress with long sleeves. Simple, and by now almost a uniform.

She pulls off her purple pyjama top, the only thing she had worn to bed the other night, and pads out into the hallway. She lives alone, so there's no one to embarrass. Not that she'd really care. she has a spare room, that she calls her guest room, but she hasn't had any need for that in ... actually ever.

The flat isn't great, but it has running water. She turns the tap on the shower, and then pulls her hair up and stuffs it in a waterproof cap. She doesn't want to deal with her hair today. Its too long and takes too long to dry.

After a quick, bracing shower she dries off, shakes her hair out and dries the few strands that poked out of the cap. She pads back into her room, and turns the knob to turn on the gaslight.

She spares a look at herself in the mirror. She has generous hips and bosom, smooth clear skin, brown hair (both) and lavender eyes. She leans in close, closing one eye, and tugging on her cheek. She sighs, and blinks. Black circles, and the hint of bags.

"Damn booze," she mutters.

She slips on a pair of white bloomers and knee-high black socks. Not very enticing, but she wasn't aiming to entice. Not in that way in any case.

She pulls on a slip that reaches to her mid thighs, then pulls on the dress. It hangs down below her knees. With the high white collar and long sleeves, she is covered except for her face and hands. She sighs again, and sits down in front of her mirror.

She leans in close, and decides it doesn't look bad enough to bother with makeup. She instead combs out her hair just enough to pull it into a pony-tail, which she then wraps up into a bun. Some lipstick, and a quick brush of rouge to her cheeks for color, and she is ready.

She slips on flat-heeled shoes. She prefers lace.up boots, but they take too long and don't do her feet any favors with her job. Last, she grabs a folded up piece of paper sitting on a table beside her flat door.

The place has a kitchen, though she almost never uses it. The living room has a sofa and a coffee table, currently holding a nearly empty bottle of whisky, and an empty glass.

Every morning, she exits her flat at the same time as the older gentleman across the hallway. He is portly, with thinning white hair and a still-impressive mustache.

"Good morning, General."

"Ms. MacBean."

She locks her door, as he slowly walks down the stairs. Taking each step one at a time, holding onto the rail with one hand, a cane with the other. She sometimes sees him walk past the café window during the course of the day, but otherwise never interacts with him.

He's her only neighbor. He is quiet, and leaves a check for his rent under her door a week before its due, so she doesn't complain.

Her workday begins when she reaches the bottom of the stairs. The General is already out the door, off to who knows where. She collects the morning newspaper, left by the mailboxes just inside the door. She next unlocks the door into the café's back room and steps through.

She turns on the light, and glances out the window of the delivery door. its rare that anyone is there this early, but she always checks to be sure.

She then slips an apron on over her dress, tying it in back. It's white with light green stripes.

She next walks into the kitchen. It's fairly large with a modern gas oven, and stovetop that she mostly uses to brew tea and melt chocolate and cook sweet sauces.

Today she turns on the oven, and as it warms up she goes into the large walk-in freezer. Its an expensive unit to run, but it is also one of her secret weapons: she pulls a tray of pastries that she mixed last night, and places it in the kitchen, to bake when the oven heats up. She also has a tray of bread ready to be baked as well.

She checks the temperature dial, and sees that the oven still has some time to warm up. she goes out to the café, and turns on the light behind the counter. She looks up at the chalkboard listing various products and prices, and decides she doesn't need to make any changes. She checks the countertop to make sure it is clean, and unlocks the cash register.

She then grins proudly at her other secret weapon. A large bronze cylinder with a rounded top, and two spigots.

She lights the pilot under the machine, and turns a valve. It clunks, and hisses, and she watches the temperature and pressure dials climb.

The oven is warm enough by now, so she goes back to the kitchen to put in the tray of pastries. Then she puts the tray with the bread in the kitchen, to go in next. She sets a timer, and walks back to the café.

The machine has reached its proper pressure, so she places a mug under one of the spigots. She pours fresh coffee beans into a grinder, adjusts a dial, and begins to turn the handle.

"Maybe," she muses, "they'll make a machine to do this one day."

Until then, she must hand grind the beans. It is, all told, the longest part of the process, and still only takes a few minutes. She scoops out fresh ground coffee and pours it into a handled cylinder, then tamps it down into a thick, compact disk. She places the cylinder in the machine above a spigot, then turns a dial, pulls a lever, and the machine goes to work. It hisses, clunks, and clatters. After a few moments, fragrant, brewed coffee pours out of the spigot and into the mug. When the liquid sputters, she pushes the lever and turns the dial, shutting off the stream.

The Espresso is bitter, with a faintly burnt taste. Many of her customers swear by it, but she wonders if it's due to the flavor or the exotic Italian machine she uses to make it. Well, she plays it up for her customers anyway. Espresso is about speed, and about performance. The customers who really care about their coffee request "the good stuff," which takes longer to brew but has a smoother flavor, without the burnt taste that comes from the process of forcing heated water into the coffee grounds.

The alarm in the kitchen goes off, and she goes back there to pull out the pastries. They go onto a cooling rack, and the bread goes into the oven. She pulls out a second tray of formed but uncooked bread, and then takes a tray of cooked pastries out to the café.

She turns on the little electric light in the display cabinet beside the counter, and fills it with the pastries. The fresh ones will go in a little later, once they have cooled and she can ice and decorate them. These will do for now, and if they're still here when the others are ready, she'll discount their price.

She cleans the espresso machine next, something she ought to have done earlier she tells herself. The cylinder pulls out, and she turns it over into the wastebin. A compressed puck of moist coffee grounds falls out. She wipes out the cylinder and puts it back in the machine, wipes off the spigot and the small shelf under it, and then takes the used mug back to the kitchen to be washed. Later, when she has time.

The first tray of bread is done, and she changes trays and resets the alarm. At about the same time, the bell rings in the other room, alerting her to a delivery.

"Heya Bill," she says with a smile as she opens the door.

"Morning, Ms Daisy."

He hands her a clipboard, and she inspects the invoice and signs it.

"('ll just unload it for you, ma'am."

"Thanks Bill."

He tips his hat, and turns to work, unloading bags of flour and yeast, sugar, cocoa powder, and the vitally important coffee beans.

Daisy returns to the kitchen while he unloads the delivery van. Bill's trustworthy. Daisy thinks he's a little smitten with her, but hasn't ever gathered up the courage to ask her on a date. He's cute enough that she probably wouldn't turn him down, but he isn't quite her type.

Today as ever, he peeks into the kitchen. "It's unloaded, Ms Daisy."

"Thanks Bill. Want anything?"

He grins. "Aw, I can't refuse your sweets ma'am."

Daisy smiles, and hands him a fresh-baked cinnamon roll. He tips his hat to her again, and ambles back out to the delivery van, munching on the pastry.

With Bill gone, and the delivery door closed, the shop becomes quiet. It won't stay that way. The second tray of bread is done, so it goes onto the cooling rack. She keeps the oven on. She has enough bread and pastries to last the morning, but she'll need to make more soon.

It's getting close to time, so she goes back out to the café. She glances out the window, and sees an old couple standing by the door. The gentleman glances at his pocket watch, as though the action will make the minutes pass faster. The woman shifts on her feet, hands in the pockets of her jacket.

She turns on the gaslights in the café. Not too bright. She wants it warm and cozy, and not overpowering.

She opens the shutter of the main window, unlocks the front door, and smiles as the man and woman amble inside.

"Good morning, and welcome to Café MacBean! How may I help you?"

"Mornin'. Cuppa black."

He always orders the same thing.

"Good morning," the woman chirps. "Breakfast blend if you''d be so kind."

"Of course sir, madam. Please feel free to sit anywhere you'd like. Would you like anything else?"

The woman settles in to a chair that the man most pointedly does not pull out for her. "Some of your delightful bread."

"Butter or marmalade?"

"Hm. Butter, I believe."

It's always the same, and she could probably just serve the bread for them, but she always goes through the routine.

The man picks up today's newspaper from a shelf beside the door. He sits down opposite the woman and opens the paper to the middle section. Daisy isn't sure what he reads. She doesn't have time to notice, as she has to start the woman's tea and the man's coffee. She learned after a scowl or two that "cuppa black" is his way of asking for a better cup of coffee than the espresso machine makes.

She makes his coffee in the kitchen. One gas burner heats the water for the tea, and a second heats water in a glass carafe. While she waits for the water to boil, Daisy grinds more coffee. It's a coarser grind, since she doesn't have to compact it like she does for the espresso machine.

When the water is ready, she pours the coffee grounds into a second glass container, and places it above the glass carafe. Pressure forces the water up from the carafe into the upper container. The mix needs to be stirred, and taken off the heat. The coffee, minus the grounds, trickles back into the carafe as it cools.

When she walks out to their table, about five minutes later give or take, the man folds and sets the paper aside.

"Coffee, black. Tea, breakfast blend. Bread, with butter."

"Thank you, darling," the woman coos with a wide smile.

The man picks up his coffee and sips at it. "Mm." He nods in her direction. It's the highest praise he's ever given her, but it's enough.

"Let me know if you need anything else."

They never do, but it's part of the routine.

 *-*

She has time to mix bread dough. It's not that challenging, and it has to sit to rise before baking anyway. While she's back in the kitchen, she has time to dribble some sugared icing on some of the fresh pastries that have cooled. They're basically ready, but they will be fine back here until the display case starts to empty.

She heads out back to the café, and glances at the clock above the chalkboard. It's close to shift change at the factories nearby. The incoming first-shift workers will want coffee, tea, and food. Some of the outgoing third-shift workers may come in a little later, but not very many. They usually go to a place they can sit down and have a hot meal, before getting as much sleep as they can.

When the bell above the door jingles, Daisy looks up in slight surprise. It's a bit early, and the young woman that enters isn't what she would expect.

She has blonde hair, slightly longer than shoulder length, just slightly messy due to the breeze. Her blue eyes are rich and deep, sparkling in the light. Her face is smooth and clean, though Daisy notes a very faint scar along the bridge of her nose. It's not enough to mar what Daisy can only call a pretty face. Her dress is grey and black, knee-length, and while clean and without any tears, looks the worse for wear.

"Welcome to Café MacBean," Daisy says with practiced ease and a smile. "How may I help you?"

The young woman's face brightens up as she smiles. "The question," she says in a clear, musical voice with just the faintest trace of the East End in her accent, "is how may I help you?"

The woman walks over to the counter. She is carrying a satchel in her left hand, and extends her right hand. Daisy takes it without hesitation.

"You must be the girl from the agency."

"Ange le Carré," she says, her smile widening. Her grip is surprisingly firm and confident.

"Right. Daisy MacBean. Nice to meet you, and thanks for getting here on time. Oh, need to see your papers though."

Ange releases Daisy's hand with a nod. "Of course." She sets her satchel on a nearby stool, and opens it. She pulls out a folded piece of paper, and hands it to Daisy.

She glances over it, just to make sure everything is in order, then holds it out for Ange to take.

The woman looks at it in surprise. "Don't you need to keep that?"

"I have it already," Daisy says as she taps the folded piece of paper on the counter. "Just making sure you're you, and not someone else pretending to be you."

"Oh, I see." Ange takes the paper and shoves it back into her satchel.

"Well, since everything's fine, come on back. We don't have too much time, but I can get you started."

Ange nods, her expression turning serious. "Right!" She closes and lifts her satchel, and ducks under the gate to the side of the display case when Daisy lifts it. She follows her into the back room.

"Put your things over there," Daisy says, gesturing to a small wooden table with a single chair beside it. When Ange sets her satchel down, Daisy tosses an apron at her.

"Delivery door's there. Deliverymen will ring the bell. I'll handle that for now."

"Right."

"Walk-in freezer's there. There's a safety handle on the inside, so you won't get trapped. Still, try to be careful. It gets pretty cold in there."

"Alright."

Daisy walks into the kitchen, Ange dutifully following. "Bread's rising there. That bread there's ready to serve, that there is too but you want to use the loaves there first. They went into the oven first so need to be used up."

"Bread. Right."

"Don't worry too much about it. I won't have you serving customers today. That said, you any good brewing tea?"

Ange smiles and nods. "I am."

"Great. Breakfast blend. Two slices of bread, with butter. Make it quick as you can, but make it right. When you're done bring it out to me."

"Oh," Ange says. Her eyes widen, and she nods.

"You've worked as a waitress before, your paperwork said so."

"Of course, I just expected ... well, it's fine. They'll be out soon."

Daisy smiles, and walks out of the kitchen. As she returns to the café, the doorbell jingles. Three men in sturdy clothes enter. Their faces and clothes are clean, and though they seem tired, it's the tired you have in the morning before having your first cup of caffeine.

"Good morning, and welcome to Café MacBean. How may I help you?"

The men stroll up to the counter, nodding at the old couple who still linger at their table.

"Espresso, three." the one man says. The other two are looking in the display case.

"Right!" She turns and scoops grounded coffee into the two cylinders. She turns the knobs on the machine, places mugs under the spigots, and with a flourish, pulls both levers at once. The machine splutters and hisses, and Daisy gives the men a wink.

"Two doughnuts and an eclair as well, if you please?" the man orders as well.

"Of course, sirs."

The first two cups are done, and she places them in front of the men, then empties and wipes out the cylinders. before refilling them with coffee grounds. As the cup fills, she pulls out the pastries from the display counter, placing them on little plates.

The man who ordered pays, then the three step to one side. One man sits on a stool as he eats his doughnut, and the other two remain standing.

The doorbell jingles again, and two more men enter. One removes a bowler hat as he enters. He's better-dressed than the others, but the workmen greet him with smiles and greetings that aren't just forced politeness.

"Good morning," Daisy greets them.

"Morning, Miss Daisy," the well-dressed man says. He speaks with a workman's accent, and has the confident grace of a man used to heavy labor, despite his evident higher status. "Breakfast blend for me, espresso for me chum."

"Right away sir. Anything to eat?"

Ange comes into the café at that moment, carrying a cup of tea and two slices of bread with butter. Her cheeks turn pink as she realizes the eyes of the workmen are on her, but she smiles. "Your breakfast, ma'am."

"Thanks. One more tea, Ange."

"Oh," she blinks in surprise.

"Make sure it's good."

"Right!" She turns on her heel, giving the men a quick nod.

"And bread, for us both if you please."

Ange stops, and glances back at Daisy, who nods.

"Coming right up, sir!" Ange says with confidence, and trots out of the café.

Daisy laughs, and sips her tea. "Hm. Not too bad."

"New girl?" the man sitting asks, between bites of doughnut.

Daisy nods as she works on the espresso. "Just started today."

"Hope she ain't just a pretty face."

The well-dressed man grins. "She's doing fine so far. Though the pretty face helps."

Daisy frowns at him. "I hope you're not implying something."

"Nah, you're more than pretty Daisy."

She grins and winks at him, and at that moment Ange comes back out with a second cup of tea and plates with bread.

The well-dressed man pays and he and his friend carry their food and drink to a table.

Ange takes a deep breath. "Will there be anything else?"

The old man ambles toward the counter, and the woman stands up to wait by the door.

"Clean that table. Collect the dishes and put 'em by the sink in the kitchen, wipe it down, and if you have a chance, sweep the floor."

"Right."

The old man pays, and nods at the three workmen, who are finishing up their food. As the couple leaves, Ange collects the dishes.

Daisy has a moment, with Ange doing the cleanup work. She sits and sips her tea, and eats her bread.

"Well," one of the workmen says, "time to get to it."

"Have a good day," Daisy says with a smile.

The men tip their hats at her, and head out.

The well-dressed man lingers for a moment longer, walking back to the counter. "Tell the new girl the tea and bread were just about right."

"Thank you sir, I'll tell her."

He nods, and walks out, giving her a slight bow at the door.

Ange walks back out into the now empty café. Her cheeks are slightly redder than they were.

"Guess you heard that?"

Ange nods.

"Good start. Collect the dishes, wipe down the tables, and sweep. Things should be quiet for a bit, but if anyone does come in let me take care of 'em. I mean, be nice and greet them, but let me take their orders."

"Alright."

Daisy walks out to the back room, handing Ange a broom. Ange grins and gives her a playful salute. Daisy shakes her head and laughs.

*-* 

Ange works hard, learns fast, and is eager to please. The slow late morning gives Daisy a chance to work in the kitchen, and she has Ange there helping her. Learning.

Daisy forms the bread she mixed earlier, now fully risen, into loaves and puts them in the oven. She mixes up another batch while the first bakes, and Ange watches carefully, mentally noting the ingredients and proportions. Next, as the bread is set aside to rise, she teaches Ange how to make a fairly simple but popular pastry item: cinnamon rolls.

"The secret's getting the dough to the right consistency. Too sticky and it won't roll. Now, you get it right and you can use it with other fillings. Even meats, though we're not licensed to serve that."

"Oh. Well, I am."

Daisy nods. "Saw that on your information sheet. Handy, in case I want to serve hot lunches some day but for now ...."

The jangle of the bell in the café tells Daisy she has customers.

"Okay, keep at this. When the oven timer goes off pull the bread out and put it on the cooling rack. I'll be back in a moment."

"Alright," Ange nods. She takes over mixing the dough as Daisy walks out to the café.

A couple of customers want coffee and bread, so she goes back into the kitchen. Ange is rolling out the dough into a long rectangle. "Bread for two," Daisy calls out.

"Oh, alright."

Daisy darts back into the café, and takes the customers' payment, then begins to make their espresso. In a few moments, Ange comes out with two plates holding slices of bread. She sets them on the counter in front of the customers with a smile.

"We wanted butter," one grumbles.

"Oh, of course sir," Ange nods. She glances at Daisy, who shrugs and with a flourish sets the mugs of espresso down on the counter. Ange hurries back into the kitchen, returning with a ceramic tub of butter. She hastily spreads it over the slices of bread. "Sorry about that."

The customers grumble, grabbing their food and drink and ambling over to a table.

Ange sighs and turns to leave. Daisy claps her shoulder and walks with her. "Sorry, should've told you."

"I should have asked."

"Well, don't dwell on it. It's not like it'll be the only mistake in your career."

"I'm not sure that makes me feel better."

Daisy grins. "Not really meant to. Just the way it is. How's the cinnamon rolls going?"

They enter the kitchen, and Ange gestures at the dough. "It's ready. I guess I just spread the filling over the dough?"

"Part of it, yeah. You pour some into the baking pan, then the rest on the dough, roll it up, and cut it into even bits."

"Alright. I can do that."

"Good."

*-* 

After a lunchtime rush from about half-past eleven to half-past one, the café quiets down again. Daisy and Ange busy themselves in the kitchen, baking bread and pastries. Business picks up again around three, when Londoners begin to take their afternoon tea. Factory workers, accountants, and students from the nearby Queen's Mayfair Academy make up the strangely mis-matched clientele.

Ange doesn't complain or hesitate when she's told to clean up tables after customers, or to sweep the floor, or to do dishes. Daisy still doesn't have her take orders or make espresso, though she keeps her busy between the cleaning tasks, minding the oven, making tea, and bringing out bread.

The tea rush slows down around five, and the café remains quiet for most of the late afternoon. Since they don't serve hot meals or meat, it isn't busy at all at suppertime. The last few customers leave a quarter til eight, and Daisy closes the shutter on the window, turns the sign to read "closed," and locks the door.

Ange is prompt and thorough in sweeping and mopping the floor in the café, which gives Daisy the chance to move the left-over pastries from the display case to the walk-in freezer, make two last cups of espresso before shutting the machine down, and then making the bread and pastries to freeze overnight, to have baking tomorrow morning.

As Ange finishes cleaning, Daisy makes her sit down at the little wooden table in the back room and drink the coffee and eat a sandwich with roast beef and cheese.

"Supper," Daisy explains with a grin.

"I see."

"Well, you're allowed to eat pastries and bread within reason through the day.."

"I didn't realize."

"If you're hungry, grab some of the remaining pastries. They'll have to be thrown out tomorrow if they're not sold or eaten anyway."

As Ange eats her sandwich and a strawberry tart, Daisy shuts down the oven and finishes the dishes. Then she goes through the café, shutting down the lights and making sure everything is in order.

It's half-past nine, when Daisy finally pulls her apron off with a yawn. "Nice work today, Ange."

The younger girl smiles, and removes her apron as well. "Thank you."

"Be here early as you can be tomorrow."

"Oh." Ange nods, and looks at her satchel. "Oh, of course."

Daisy is locking the delivery door, and glances back curiously at Ange. "You can head off now."

"Right," Ange nods. She shifts on her feet, and glances at the door.

"Is something wrong?"

"Well ... I mean, I really do hate to mention this after only one day but," Ange clears her throat and looks down at her feet. "Is there any chance that I could get an advance on my first paycheck?"

Daisy looks at her in confusion. "You need money?"

Ange shrugs.

"You don't have anywhere to go, do you?"

"That's not true!" Ange says, a bit too sharply. She blushes lightly, and shrugs again. "I'm going to stay in a boarding house. It's just ... I mean, I saved up as much as I could, but .…"

"Alright, look. I don't know all the details of your life and I don't want to, but this is a serious question: do you not have a home?"

Ange shakes her head.

"Well, I live in the flat above the café, and I've got a spare room. I call it a guest room, but I never have any guests that need a separate bed."

Ange's blush deepens, but she looks up with wide eyes.

"So, you can stay there. I mean, just until you get your feet under you. Once you've got some money saved up we'll see from there. Besides," she adds with a grin, "that way you won't have an excuse to be late for work."

"Oh. I mean ... your landlord won't object?"

"I'll ask her: Say Miss MacBean, do you object if Ange stays in my flat for a few weeks until she can get a proper house? Why, not at all Daisy. She's welcome to stay as long as she likes."

Ange blinks in confusion, and Daisy laughs.

"You ... you own the building?"

"Not as impressive as it sounds. It's a café and a pair of flats just above it. I couldn't pass up the opportunity."

"How do you manage it?!"

Daisy grins. "I've got a tenant in the second flat, and the café does alright. That, and I'm in debt up to by eyebrows."

A smile crosses Ange's lips. "Oh. Well, then I suppose I can accept your offer."

"Great! Grab your satchel. Wait, is that everything you own?"

Ange picks it up, nodding shyly.

"I don't guess you've got a second dress in there?"

"Well ... no. Some underclothes and a casual outfit. It's ... shabby."

Daisy leads Ange to the door, her hand on the girl's shoulder. "We'll have to take you shopping then."

"Um."

"Since I own the place, I set the hours. I close early some days, open late on others, and just stay closed sometimes."

"I see."

Daisy locks the door, and checks her mailbox. It's empty. She then gestures up the stairs, and Ange goes up.

Daisy unlocks her flat, and Ange walks in slowly. Daisy turns on the gaslight, and gestures around the place.

"Well, it isn't the Lorraine, but it's home. Living room. Oh, don't mind the mess."

Ange glances at the whisky bottle and glass sitting on the coffee table, but says nothing.

"Kitchen. Almost never use it. Anything in there's free for you to grab, just clean up any mess you make. Door on the end of the hall's the bathroom."

Daisy opens it, and Ange looks in.

"Hot and cold running water. On days when I open late or close early, the bathtub's available. After I have my bath that is."

"Naturally."

"Other days, use the shower."

Ange nods. "Shower. Right."

Daisy taps on the door beside the bathroom. "This is my room. You don't go in there unless I invite you. If I do invite you, you don't disturb anything, and you certainly don't take anything."

"Of course!"

Daisy nods, and opens the third door. "This will be your room."

It's the smaller of the two bedrooms. It holds single bed with a scratchy-looking white blanket, cloth sheet, and two pillows. A mirror along one wall sits behind a small wooden table and chair. Beside that is a chest-of drawers. A small window sits on the wall opposite the door, and a small closet is beside that.

Two large cardboard boxes sit atop one another in front of the window. Daisy frowns at them. "I have no idea what's in those."

Ange smiles. "They won't be in my way."

"Well, I'll go through them at some point. They've probably been there since I moved in. Anyway, there are a couple old dresses and blouses in the closet. If they fit, you're welcome to them. The dresser's empty. I think."

She opens the drawers, confirming that they are empty. Except for a claw hammer, which Daisy takes with a shrug. Ange doesn't ask.

"Alright, with that settled ... want a drink?"

Ange sets her satchel down on her bed, and glances uncertainly at her reflection. "I don't really drink."

"Up to you, but I always have a bit before bed. Helps me unwind after work."

"Oh. Well, I suppose it won't hurt to have a little."

Ange sits down on the sofa, and watches as Daisy takes the dirty glass away, and comes out with two clean ones. She then opens a liquor cabinet along one wall.

"Whisky, Scotch, or Bourbon?"

"Um. I suppose whisky?"

Daisy nods, and pulls out a tall, green glass bottle. She sets it on the table, then pours the rest of the whisky from the open bottle into her glass, before easing open the cork on the new bottle and pouring a measured amount into Ange's.

She sits down, and gestures towards Ange with her glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Daisy replies, lightly tapping their glasses together.

Daisy tips the glass back, downing the whisky in one gulp. "Ah! That's the stuff!"

Ange cautiously sniffs her drink, wrinkling her nose, before taking a cautious sip. Her face instantly contorts, and she is unable to suppress a cough.

"Smooth, huh?" Daisy says in amusement.

"It's very strong," Ange manages to say.

"Not really. It's on the weaker end of whiskys, honestly."

Ange looks at her in surprise.

"You don't have to drink it, but it'll grow on you if you give it a chance."

Ange frowns, but raises the glass to her lips again to take another sip. She is able to keep from coughing, but she again grimaces.

Daisy shakes her head, and pours more whisky into her glass. She sips this, leaning back against the sofa. Ange continues to sip at her drink, gradually becoming used to the powerful burning sensation.

"So," Daisy begins.

"Yes?"

"You have a boyfriend?"

Ange blushes, and splutters. "I don't see how that's an appropriate question."

Daisy sighs. "We're flatmates now, kid. I don't mind if you have guests over, so long as they keep out of the café's back room and clean up any messes they make, but I do want to know about it beforehand."

"Oh," Ange says. Her blush deepens, and she looks down at her drink. "You are correct. I apologize for the outburst. And as it happens, I do not have a boyfriend."

"Really?" Daisy says with a smirk. "No cute boys from school, or anyone you met on the job?"

Ange shakes her head. "No."

"Well," Daisy sighs. "We'll have to close up early some night and go to the pub. Good chance to meet people."

"I," Ange says uncertainly, "I suppose that would be fine. Though, I'm not really interested in a relationship."

"Guess that makes sense. Just starting out on your own, first full-time job? Don't want to get involved with a guy that'll just drain your time and money?"

"Something like that."

"So, question. The info I got from the agency says you've got experience as a waitress. I didn't question that because they're reliable, but I have to wonder?"

"Oh. Well, I was told, once I turned 13, that I had to start working. The agency found several part-time positions for me starting then, but none were long-term, let alone leading to anything full-time."

"Gotcha. I guess once you turned 16 they sent you here? Since I'm looking for a long-term girl."

"Yes. I ... well, in point of fact, today was my 16th birthday."

"Oh! You should've said something earlier. I'd have set something aside for you."

"Well, it's fine."

"Still, happy birthday."

"Thank you."

Ange finally drains her whisky, and sets her empty glass on the table. Daisy starts to tip the bottle over it, glancing at her questioningly. She nods, and Daisy fills the glass.

They drink in silence for several more minutes. When Ange drains her second glass, she politely declines to have more. "I believe that I'm going to turn in."

"Yeah. Long day. Good day though."

"Yes."

Ange starts to stand. She wobbles, her eyes crossing. Daisy laughs, and wraps an arm around Ange's midsection.

"Drunk just from two glasses?"

"I," Ange says, blinking. "I don't drink. I'm convinced that is more alcohol than I have ever before had in my life."

"Huh. By the time I was your age I was downing half a bottle a night."

Ange frowns at her. "I don't think that's a good thing, though."

Daisy laughs again, and helps her to her bedroom. Ange plops down on the bed, jostling her satchel. she frowns at it, and sets it on the ground.

"You didn't mention anything about pyjamas."

Ange blushes. "I ... didn't expect to be spending the night at your place."

"But at a hotel."

Ange shrugs.

"It's fine, you can borrow from me. One sec."

Ange nods, and Daisy leaves the room. She opens her closet, and selects a dark blue pyjama top.

"It's probably a bit big," Daisy says as she walks back into Ange's room. "It'll do until we can get you something."

Ange nods. "It's fine I'm sure."

Daisy tosses it to her, and then takes a deep breath. "Well. Good night, Ange. Sleep well, and I look forward to another productive day tomorrow."

"Yes. Sleep well. Oh, and Daisy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For everything."

Daisy smiles. "Don't mention it, kid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for clarification, I use original names, since Ange and Charlotte don't permanently switch places in this story's continuity, and Daisy (Dorothy) doesn't assume her mother's name after running away from home.


	2. Chapter 2

Ange's eyes open slowly. The room is dark and her vision is blurry. The bed feels wrong, and she is alone. She blinks, briefly confused, before she remembers that she's no longer at the orphanage.

She sits up in bed and yawns. Her head hurts, and her thinking is fuzzy. There's a little bit of light oozing in past the curtains over the window, but it's only enough to highlight the cardboard boxes sitting between it and the bed.

She yawns again, and pulls out from under the covers. She's wearing the dark blue pyjama top Daisy loaned her last night, and a pair of bloomers. The hardwood floor is chilly against her feet, but she's felt colder so she ignores it.

Her eyes adjust to the dim light, and she can see her reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. Her hair is a mess. More than usual, that is.

She stands up, stretches her arms and yawns again. Then the sudden sound of an alarm clock going off in Daisy's room nearly makes her jump. She takes a deep breath, chiding herself for being startled. Of course Daisy would have an alarm.

She pulls a fresh pair of bloomers out of her satchel, and sets them, a fresh pair of socks, and a camisole on her bed. She takes her one dress, which she laid across the top of the chest-of-drawers last night, smooths it out, and sets it down beside the other items. She glances at the pair of knee-length shorts, thick cotton blouse, and threadbare jacket stuffed into the satchel. She's worn that style, if such a word can be used for such clothing, for most of her life. This set has been hers for far longer than she cares to remember, and they're a little too short, a little too tight.

"I need new clothes," she mutters.

With another yawn, she opens her door and ambles out into the hallway. The light is on, and Daisy is opening the door to the bathroom. She is stark naked.

Ange sputters, her face turning very bright red. She tries to remind herself that privacy didn't exist in the orphanage. Bathing was a communal affair, and she has seen girls of all ages naked. Boys too for that matter. It doesn't help her current embarrassment.

"Morning, Ange," Daisy calls out as though nothing at all is unusual. Then she sees Ange's mortification, and laughs. "Oh right. I have a flatmate now. Gotta remember that."  
"Sorry," Ange stammers, looking down very steadily at her own feet.

"I should be saying that. Well, no harm. To me anyway. I'll let you know when the shower's free."

Ange nods. "Yes. Yes, thank you." She hurriedly retreats to her room, and sits on the edge of her bed.

She takes a deep breath, and looks at herself in the mirror again. She's calmed down now, and realizes it was more the surprise than anything. She's seen nudity all her life. It's nothing strange, nothing unusual.

The door opens after a moment, and Daisy peeks in. She has a towel wrapped around her body. "Shower's free."

"Oh. Thank you," Ange says evenly. She stands and walks out the door. "Oh, Daisy?"

"Yeah?"

"I do apologize for overreacting. Again. I don't know what's come over me."

"No big deal. I'll just remember not to strip before getting in the bathroom next time."

"It's fine, either way. We are, as you say, flatmates. It isn't really a problem."

"See, that's what I think too. That's why I just ... well, anyway. Enjoy your shower, but don't take too long."

"Right."

The bathroom is hot, and the mirror is fogged over. Ange turns on the shower. The water is still quite hot. She hurriedly slips off her bloomers and pyjama top and hops in.

She hisses as the very hot water hits her skin, but she doesn't flinch or leave. This is a luxury she isn't used to. Bathing at the orphanage was not only communal, but highly unpleasant. Large wooden tubs of murky, lukewarm water and harsh soap that made her skin itch were the norm. And they only came once a week.

She sighs, the hot water now feeling soothing. She lathers up a washcloth and cleans herself head to toe, including her hair.

There is a knock at the door, and it opens a crack. "I left a clean towel for you in there. Need anything else?"  
"No, I'm fine."

"Alright. Oh, there's shampoo if you want to wash your hair."  
Ange blinks, and looks at the bottle sitting by the soap dish. She runs a hand through her soap-sudsy hair, and sighs.

"Thank you," she calls out, even if it's too late for her to use it now.

"No problem. Just don't dawdle."

Ange hears the door close, and she rinses herself. She turns off the water, and pulls back the shower curtains. She rubs her eyes. Her vision isn't so blurry now after the hot shower, though the bathroom is foggy.

She dries off, wraps the towel around herself, and steps out. Daisy is in the hallway, fully dressed except for shoes. "Enjoy?"  
"Yes," Ange says with a thin smile.

"Good. Now move your butt!"

Ange nods. "Yes ma'am!"

 

*-*

 

The General glares at Ange suspiciously as the two girls leave their flat.

"Good morning General."

"Ms. MacBean."

"This is my new girl, Ange le Carré."

"Nice to meet you, sir."

"Hm. Pleasure." He doesn't sound particularly pleased.

Ange looks at Daisy uncertainly, and the older girl shrugs. The General pays them no more mind, ambling down the stairs as usual. After a moment, Daisy walks down, followed by Ange.

"Get the paper," Daisy says as she unlocks the door to the café.

Ange idly glances at the front page, but doesn't see anything especially interesting. She follows Daisy in, handing her the newspaper.

Both tie on aprons, and Ange follows Daisy as she goes through the morning routine, turning on the oven and the lights and getting things ready. She watches intently as Daisy grinds coffee, fills the receptacles, and makes two cups of espresso.

"Sit," Daisy orders her. Ange sits on a stool behind the counter, and Daisy sets the cup and a shortcake from yesterday in front of her. "Breakfast," Daisy notes.

"Thank you."

As Ange eats, Daisy busies herself in the kitchen, baking the pastries she made last night. Ange finishes and carries her dirty dishes to the sink in the kitchen, just as Daisy returns to the café to set the lighting.

Ange comes back in time to see her open the shutter and unlock the front door.

The old couple shuffle in, sitting at the same table, making the same order.

Daisy pulls Ange into the kitchen with her, and shows her how to use the siphon brewer.

"The result tastes better than espresso, but most people don't want to wait this long. If a customer asks for the good coffee, or they say they're willing to wait, use this machine."

"I see."

"Get the bread and tea ready."

"Alright."

When everything is ready, Daisy hands Ange a platter with the coffee, tea, and bread. She looks somewhat surprised, but Daisy grins.

"Just set their things down for them and be gracious when they thank you. It's a piece of cake, good way to warm up."

"I'm used to waiting tables, so it's not a problem. I'm just surprised is all."

"Don't be. It's just us two, so I want you up to speed as quick as possible."

"Of course."

The man folds the newspaper and sets it aside, as usual. He looks slightly surprised to see Ange, but doesn't comment.

"Your tea," she says setting it in front of the woman.

"Thank you, dear. You're new, aren't you?"

"Yes ma'am."

She smiles. "You're doing a splendid job."

Ange smiles and nods. "Thank you, ma'am. Your coffee, sir."

He sips it. "Mm," he says with a curt nod.

"You're welcome?" Ange says, setting the plate of bread down in the middle of the table. The man gives her a curious look, but says nothing.

"Well, if there's anything else, let me know."

"Thank you darling, we will," the old woman says.

 

*-*

 

 

Ange is in the kitchen baking. She realizes, idly, that it's been a full day since she got here. It's been a busy 24 hours, but she doesn't have time to reflect any further.

Daisy peeks in to the kitchen. "Two breakfast blends, two breads, one with butter and the other with marmalade."

"Yes ma'am," she answers crisply.

Daisy leaves and Ange starts tea brewing. She cuts slices off of a loaf of bread, spreading two with butter and two with orange marmalade. She hears the espresso machine clunking and hissing, and a thin smile crosses her lips. Fun isn't the right word, but there's a sense of accomplishment, of continuity, that she hasn't felt. Not in a very long time in any case.

She comes out to the café carrying the bread and tea, and sees a group of four workmen standing at the counter.

"Hey, the new girl's still here," one says with a smile.

She smiles back. "I've not burnt the place down yet, so I seem to be up to the task."

The men and Daisy laugh at this, and she sets the teacups and plates on the counter. Daisy sets two cups of espresso and two plates with apple cobbler down next to them.

As Daisy takes the payment, Ange starts back out to return to the kitchen.

"Aw, and I was hoping you'd stay out for a bit," one of the men says with a wide grin.

Ange turns to him with a smile. "Well, I've tasks in the kitchen, but perhaps tomorrow?"

He nods. "I look forward to it."

Ange winks at him, and the men laugh. She hurries out of the café, barely suppressing a shudder. It's the one thing she hates about being a waitress. At least these men keep their hands to themselves. So far, she mentally appends with a grimace.

Daisy comes into the kitchen while Ange is setting a tray of bread on the cooling rack. She is smiling. "You've made a friend," she says in a teasing voice.

"Lucky me," Ange replies dryly.

Daisy sighs, and places an arm over her shoulder. "Flirting's good. It makes the men happy, and encourages them to come back. They spend just a little bit more if they think the pretty girl pouring their coffee fancies them. Just remember, they are customers."

"I know," Ange nods.

"Good. It would be awkward if you started to date one of 'em."

"I'd never!" Ange responds, looking truly offended at the idea.

"Again, good. We'll get you a boyfriend yet, but you won't meet him here."

Ange sighs. "I really don't feel the need."

"Up to you. Being alone isn't good though."

"I'm fine with it," Ange responds, busying herself with kneading dough.

Daisy looks at her for another moment, before leaving the kitchen without another word.

 

*-*

 

Ange is wiping down tables after the noon rush, when she hears the bell jangle above the door. she glances up and sees a man in a garish suit enter. She turns back to her work when he ignores her entirely.

"Welcome to ... oh. It's you."

Ange looks up at Daisy in complete surprise, then looks back at the man. she sees that he is followed by two men in identical cheap suits, bowler hats, with thin mustaches. She recognizes instantly that they are thugs. Her survival instincts kick in. She glances hastily at the counter, judging how quickly she could run to and jump over it.

"Now now, Daisy," the man coos in a voice that's like syrup poured over vomit: smooth and sweet, but unable to cover the vileness beneath. "That's no way to talk to me. especially considering how much you owe me."

"I know."

"You missed your last two payments," he says in a more serious voice, leaning over the counter.

"I know," Daisy repeats. "I have the money."

"Give it to me then."

"I don't have it on me."

"Then you do not have the money."

"I _will_ have it, Frankie. Next week."

"Next week you'll owe more interest"

"Yeah, I know. Next week, in full. Both payments and all the interest"

"You'd better. Or I'll foreclose this rotten little café, and break that," he gestures vaguely at the espresso machine, "down for salvage. He then turns to Ange for the first time. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "And who is this?"

"New employee."

"Really? You can pay a street rat to sweep crumbs, but you can't pay me?"

Ange takes a deep breath, clenching her fists together. She wants to bite back, but senses it would make things worse.

"She's no street rat, Frankie. And her paycheck doesn't come due til after I pay you."

"That so? Whats your name, little girl?"

Ange bristles, but forces herself to answer in an even voice. "Ange, sir."

"Ange, eh? Well, _Ange_. When Daisy here fails to pay you, come see me. I may have a suitable _position_ for you under me."

Ange half expects the thugs to chuckle at the apparent double entendre, but they remain silent and stony-faced.

Frankie fishes a business card out of a pocket and thrusts it toward Ange.

She frowns at it. "No thank you."

"Really? You'd rather work in a slophouse for free? I can think of many uses to put you to, and you'd earn a fair bit doing them."

"No thank you, sir. I am happy here."

"That so?" he shoves the card back in his pocket. "Well, one of these days, I'll shut this place down, and maybe then you'll change your tune?"

Frankie walks back toward the door. one of his goons opens it for him. Before he steps through, he turns back, raising an index finger. "One week." He glares at Daisy, then at Ange, before swaggering away.

Daisy waits a moment to be sure the three are gone, then her head drops down to the countertop, muttering an expletive under her breath.

Ange is alarmed, and briefly uncertain what to do. She finally decides to drop her cloth on the table, run around to the counter, and place a hand on her back.

Daisy turns her head to look at her, and to Ange's surprise she is grinning.

"Remember when I said I was in debt up to my eyebrows? Well, welcome to my life," she says with a bitter laugh.

Ange is taken aback for a moment, but keeps her hand on Daisy's back. "Um. Will you be alright? can you pay him?"

"Yeah, I'll get the money, somehow."

"Oh. Well, if you need to delay my pay ...."

Daisy frowns and rises up off the table. "Don't you dare go there Ange le Carré! I can pay him and you, alright? Besides, I don't pay you directly. I pay your wage plus a fee to the agency, remember? If I don't pay you they pull you out, so that's no option."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Don't worry about it. I've had that rat fink on my back for years now, and never missed more than 2, maybe 3 payments in a row. At most. He knows I'm good for it, so he's just posturing."

"I see."

"Now, finish with the tables and do dishes."

"Yes ma'am."

 

*-*

 

Teatime today is unusually busy, and Ange and Daisy spend every minute brewing coffee and tea, buttering bread, and running orders out to tables.

The students from Queen's Mayfair are especially distinctive due to their black and white uniforms. Most are around Ange's age, or a year or two younger.

At one table sit a trio of girls that barely make eye contact with Ange as she brings out their order.

"One Espresso."

None of the girls acknowledge her, and Ange sets the mug down in front of the one with moss-green hair, partly pulled into a tight bun on the side of her head. She scowls at it.

"I ordered Lapsang souchong,"

"Sorry, ma'am," Ange says. She places the mug of richly scented tea in front of that girl, and moves the espresso to the brunette with a long twin-tail hair style.

"Ugh, coffee?"

"I apologize, did you have the Earl Grey?"

"That was mine," the final girl, whose black hair is adorned with a blue ribbon attached to a false flower, says in an exasperated tone.

"Oh. Right, of course."

She sets it in front of that girl, and then looks uncertainly at the espresso. "Whose was this?"

"Not any of ours, clearly!" the black-haired girl says.

"Apologies, I have it noted .…"

"You are wrong!" twin-tails says sharply.

"Oh. Again, I apologize. What did you want?"

"Must I repeat myself?"

"Such horrid service this place has now," the black-haired girl says.

"Indeed, I wonder whyever we continue to come here," the green-haired girl says.

Ange takes a deep breath, to control her emotions. She's experienced this before, and these girls are far from the rudest she's encountered.

"I do sincerely apologize. I have incorrectly noted your order. I will happily bring out your correct drink, but I do need to know what you wanted."

"Is there a problem here?" Daisy asks, coming over to the table and setting a hand on Ange's back.

"Good heavens, yes!" the black-haired girl exclaims. "This girl is singularly rude and incompetent. Look, she's given me my friend's Earl Grey tea!"

The twin-tailed girl indignantly takes the mug.

"And she refuses to give me my espresso," the girl continues.

Ange takes in a very deep breath, and calmly as she can, places the mug of coffee in front of her.

"I see," Daisy says. "Well, d'you all have your orders correct now?"

The three girls look carefully at the mugs, and they all nod.

"Hm. Yes, I do believe so," the dark-haired girl says. "It is simply appalling that we must have you, the hard-working owner of this fine café, take time out of your busy day to correct the gross incompetence of this ... _girl_."

"Well, it's all settled now. Ange, see to the next order please."

"Yes ma'am," she says in a controlled tone.

As she and Daisy turn and walk off, she hears the girls giggle.

"Goodness Lily, I did believe she was about to have a fit!"

Ange clenches her fists, but Daisy's hand on her back keeps her from doing anything rash.

She does mess up the next order, delivering two espressos to customers that had wanted tea, and then gives cheesecake to a woman who had ordered apple cobbler. After correcting her mistakes, Ange retreats to the back room, sits down at the wooden table, and buries her face in her hands.

She hears the door to the café open, and feels Daisy's hand on her shoulder.

"You alright?"

"No," Ange says.

"Look, you can't let little things like that get to you."

"I know," Ange sighs. "They were lying."

"I know that."

"You ought to have called them on it!"

"Then they'd never come back here."

Ange turns a heavy frown to Daisy. "You say that as though it'd be a bad thing."

"Look, Academy students come here a lot. They talk about this place, so word gets around. I kick those girls out, and suddenly word gets around that I'm rude and surly."

Ange sighs. "It's unfair."

"Yeah, it is. You've done this job before though, so you know how it is."

Ange nods, slowly.

"Good. Now, anyone lays a hand on you, whether they aim to hurt or grope or whatever, feel free to bloody their nose, and I won't care at that point if they never come back. But just words? However vicious they may be, you just have to tough that out."

"I know," Ange repeats. "I shall strive to be better."

"Do that," Daisy says seriously.

 

 

*-*

 

After the busy, stressful teatime dies down, Daisy closes the café early. it is half past six when she closes the shutter and locks the door. they take their time cleaning and readying the next mornings bread and pastries.

"I'll go get us a hot meal. Pick a flavor of booze and get it opened up."

Ange nods with a sigh.

Daisy tosses her apron in the laundry, and is out the door. Ange goes through the café to make sure everything is in order. The lights and oven are off, and the delivery door is locked. She heads on out, locking the door behind her.

She goes to the flat, turns on the gaslight in the living room, then strips out of her clothes, changing into her ill fitting shorts and blouse. Barefoot, she pads back to the living room, grabs a bottle of what is labeled Bourbon, and sets it on the coffee table, with two clean glasses.

A while later, Daisy returns carrying two large paper sacks. she sets them down on the table, and nods approvingly at the drink selection.

"Bourbon. That's cheap but strong. Good booze to get drunk with."

Ange shrugs.

Daisy sighs, and pulls out meat pies and baked potatoes for both of them, then pours out generous glasses of alcohol.

"Cheers," she says, raising her glass.

"Cheers," Ange answers, tapping their glasses together.

They eat in silence. Once the food is gone, and both are sipping on their second glass of booze, Ange sighs heavily.

"What a rotten day," she grumbles.

"It happens," Daisy says. "You'll have worse days. Days when you completely screw up, and make a customer mad at you for real. Today's mistakes didn't make anyone mad."

"You will always take the customer's side though. Even if I am correct and they are lying."

"A mad customer stops being a customer. You've been a waitress before, so you ought to know that."

Ange nods slowly, and takes a long drink.

"Unless you, like, poison someone? I'll forgive and forget as long as you don't make an ass of yourself. I'll expect the same from you. Alright?"

Ange nods.

"Good. Tomorrow is laundry day, so anything you want washed, get it ready."

"Alright. When do we do laundry?"

" _We_ don't. I have a contract with a laundry mill. They send a girl by to pick it up, and then they drop it off clean and pressed that evening."

"Oh."

"We'll work a full day tomorrow, then I figure the next day I can keep the place closed. I'll put up a notice tomorrow morning so that delightful couple that always comes first thing know not to come in two days time."

"Alright. Will we go shopping then?"

"Yes, exactly. You need new clothes. That blouse looks about ready to burst."

Ange blushes, and shrugs. "its all I have, other than the dress."

"I know. Don't worry about the cost, either. Consider it an early performance bonus. alright?"

"Um, alright."

"Good. You want more booze?"

"I ... don't think I'd be able to function tomorrow if I had more."

"Fair enough. Ange?"

"Yes, Daisy?"

"You are doing very well. I am proud of you."

Ange's cheeks turn pink, and a shy smile crosses her face. "Thank you"

"I mean it. Now finish that drink and get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow."  


*-*

 

In the morning, Ange wakes up with a headache. She grumbles, but forces herself out of bed. Daisy's alarm doesn't startle her this time, and when she stumbles out into the hallway, Daisy is wearing a purple pyjama top.

"Morning," Ange yawns.

"Morning, kid. How d'you feel?"

"Like my head is being used for target practice."

"Yeah, the downside of cheap, strong booze. The shower will help, and coffee should clear it. If not, I have headache powder you can take."

"Thanks."

Ange feels better after the shower, and though she still feels pressure against her forehead and temples, she is fairly sure coffee will take care of it. They spend a little more time today before going down to the café, shoving dirty clothing and linen into a large cloth sack.

The General greets them both today as though Ange had been there the entire time. The sense of continuity she felt earlier begins to return, and she is smiling by the time they begin their morning routine.

The ringing of the bell at the delivery door takes Ange by surprise, even though by rights it shouldn't. it is early morning yet, well before opening time. Daisy opens the delivery door, and a young woman, maybe a year or two older than Daisy, stands beside a steam powered lorry.

"Morning Marilla," Daisy says with a smile.

The woman has dark hair and pale, freckled skin. She smiles in return. "Morning, Daisy. Morning," she adds, smiling at Ange.

"This is my new girl, Ange le Carré."

"Nice to meet you," Ange says.

"Pleasure."

"You'll find a few more items in there. The kid's staying with me for a bit, til she gets on her feet."

Marilla nods, apparently unfazed. She hefts the laundry sack over her shoulder. "This everything?"

"Yeah"

"Right. I'll be back this evening."

"Thanks Marilla. You want anything?"

"No, I'm fine for now. I'll probably be back when I've a break today."

"See you then."

She walks back out to the lorry and tosses the cloth sack into the open back of the lorry, along with dozens of others that, to Ange's eyes, are identical. She wonders how anyone can tell them apart.

 

*-*

 

A little before noon, Marilla comes back. She has a little cluster of girls with her, and they all enter the café.

"Good morning," Ange says with a smile. "Welcome to café MacBean. How may I help you?"

"Oh, good morning. Ange, wasn't it?"

She smiles. "That's right."

"Girls, she's new but I have a good feeling about her. Order what you'd like, as usual."

The youngest two girls, brunettes who appear to be twins, smile shyly at Ange as they walk over to the display cabinet.

"Oh, that looks so good!"

"It does, it does! Oh, but I adore red velvet cake!"

"Oh, I do too. Whatever will we do?"

Ange grins at them, and nods at the older girls who walk up to the counter. One has blonde hair and wire-framed glasses. The other is pudgy with shoulder length brown hair. Both smile at Ange, though she can tell the girl with glasses is somewhat nervous.

"What would you like? Tea or coffee? We've many varieties of tea to choose from."

"Um," the girl with glasses says, looking at the chalkboard behind her. It lists the many blends of tea they offer along with prices. "Um, Darjeeling, with honey and milk."

Ange nods. "Good choice. Ma'am?"

"Bread!" the other girl says.

"Oh, of course. Would you like butter or marmalade?"

"No. Just bread."

Ange blinks, and Marilla laughs.

"She always orders a plain loaf of bread, then carries it around with her half the day."

"I see," Ange says slowly. "Well, I suppose that's fine."

The girl nods with a content smile.

"Would you like any tea, though?"

"Oh, sure. Just, um, black tea I guess."

"Alright. Girls?"

The twins look up at her with grins. "A slice of red velvet cake and one of those ring thingies."

"Oh, a doughnut? Chocolate or cinnamon sugar?"

"Chocolate. But ... why is it called a dough _nut_?"

The other shrugs. "We'll take one anyway."

"Just one?"

"Sure, we're gonna share it, and the slice of cake!"

"That's fine," Ange nods. "Anything to drink?"

"Black tea?" one asks.

"Yes, black tea," the other nods.

"Ma'am?"

"Espresso please," Marilla orders, "and a doughnut for me as well."

"Oh, I'll have a doughnut also," the girl with glasses says.

"Coming right up, then."

Ange walks back to the kitchen, where Daisy is baking bread.

"One Darjeeling, ordered with honey and milk, and three black teas. Oh, and ... well, a loaf of bread."

Daisy grins. "Marilla's girls are here?"

Ange nods with a smile. "That they are."

"You feel up to making espresso?"

"I did this morning."

"And you did alright, but that was just for us."

"I'll be fine."

Daisy nods, and Ange returns to the café. She grinds some coffee, and notices with mixed amusement and nervousness that all of the four younger girls are watching with wide-eyed fascination. She smiles and winks at them, making the younger two giggle. Marilla stands to one side, watching the younger girls as much as Ange.

She tamps the grounds into the cylinder, and places a mug under the spigot. It's not very difficult, though Ange doesn't have the flashy moves that Daisy has. In a few minutes' time, she sets the steaming mug of freshly brewed coffee in front of Marilla.

The younger two girls applaud, and the older two smile.

"Not bad," Marilla says with a nod.

Daisy comes out a moment later, with the mugs of tea and a loaf of bread in a brown paper sack. As Daisy takes money from Marilla, Ange opens the back of the display case and takes out a slice of red velvet cake, places chocolate doughnuts on plates, and places two spoons on the plate with the cake.

The five take their food and drink to a table, and Ange watches with a growing smile as they eat with obvious delight.

Daisy pats her shoulder. "That right there? That's why I opened this café."

 

*-*

 

That evening, they spend an extra few moments stacking the freshly-laundered aprons on a shelf in the café's back room. They replace the dirty washcloths with clean ones, then take their personal laundry upstairs.

After putting the warm, clean clothes away they relax together on the sofa.

"So, you've been here three days. What d'you think?"

"Hm. Well, I've been bullied and yelled at. I spilled an espresso today and had to make a fresh one for the customer. And however many times you say it's fine, I can't but wonder if this place won't be repossessed out from under us. That said, the smiles of those girls today?"

"Yeah," Daisy nods.

Ange's smile widens. "So I suppose it's good, in the balance."

"Glad to hear it. So, tomorrow we're going shopping. I told you before, but I will say it again: it'll be my treat, and we'll call it a performance bonus."

"I suppose that's fine."

"Plan on getting at least one new dress, maybe a blouse and skirt. Nothing too fancy, just so you don't have to keep wearing that same dress every day."

"Right."

"Then, if you're up for it, we can hit the pub."

"Oh."

"I don't mind opening later the following morning if it comes to it."

"I doubt that will be necessary."

Daisy grins. "Never know, might meet someone cute."

Ange shrugs, her cheeks turning red. "I doubt that."


	3. Chapter 3

When Ange wakes up the next morning, it's already daylight. She briefly panics, starting up out of bed and rushing into the corridor, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee brings her up short. She looks curiously into the kitchen, and finds Daisy wearing a light green pyjama top and bloomers, pouring coffee from a glass carafe into two ceramic mugs.

She glances over her shoulder with a smile. "You're up. Was going to wake you."

"I see. I suppose I forgot we were off today."

"Well, don't get used to it. I can't afford to close up that often."

Ange pads into the kitchen, and accepts one of the mugs. She sips it. It's unusually good. "Mm."

"Siphon coffee," Dorothy says, gesturing to the contraption on the kitchen counter. "I don't use it much."

"Imagine that," Ange grins.

"Yeah. Go ahead and sit, I'll bring out breakfast.

Ange sits down, and frowns at the empty bottle of scotch and dirty glasses on the coffee table. She sets her mug down and picks them up.

Daisy walks out carrying two plates with strawberry tart. She laughs. "Can't stop waitressing, huh?"

Ange frowns. "They're dirty. Actually, when was the last time you did dishes?"

"Up here? Don't hardly need to. I've got plenty of glasses."

Ange sets the dirty glasses down next to a dozen others by the sink. She clicks her tongue. "I'll get these cleaned."

"You'll do no such thing, missy."

Ange sighs and walks back out to the sofa. "You can't just leave them, though."

"Can and will. Sit and eat! Orders from your boss."

"Fine. I shall wash them later today."

Daisy rolls her eyes. "We both will then, since you insist."

"I do."

Ange plops down on the sofa with a sigh. She is wearing only the blue pyjama tops Daisy loaned her earlier, and she tugs them down to cover her thighs. Daisy doesn't notice, or at least doesn't make a comment.

"So," Daisy does say, "since we're in lazy mode today, we can use the bathtub."

"You first, of course," Ange notes, sipping her coffee.

"Sure. We'll get going once you're ready."

They finish breakfast, and as Daisy draws her bath, Ange stares at the dirty dishes. She starts to run the water in the kitchen sink, when Daisy peeks around the corner. "Leave. Them."

Ange blinks and looks at her in surprise. Daisy grins. "Please?"

Ange sighs. "Fine."

*-*

 

The hot water of her bath nearly lulls Ange back to sleep. It's a luxury she's only experienced a few times in her life.

She can still see her. Her eyes, her short blonde hair, her thin, refined smile. It was like looking into a mirror, except she could reach out and touch her cheek, clasp her hand, entwine their fingers together.

She sighs, and decides to cut her bath short. The memories are supposed to be pleasant, but somehow after nine years they have a bitter aftertaste. Realistically, how can she ever find her again? Not that she doesn't know where to look, so much as how can she ever possibly get there again?

With wet hair, and steam rising off her bare skin, Ange looks in the mirror. With the thin fog and mist, she can just barely see her blue eyes, and the fringe of wet blonde hair around her face. She winces, and closes her eyes, hastily drying herself.

She just can't stop thinking about her. She almost regrets having such a slow, lazy day today.

*-*

 

London hums and buzzes and belches out thick coal smoke. The throngs on the sidewalks and in the streets brings back a flood of memories. Some are good, some less so.

Café MacBean sits on the border between the industrial district, where the factories and laundry mills busy themselves with labor, and the shopping district. It's a nice enough area that middle class folk and students mingle with the working class.

Daisy scowls at a café as the pass it. "See?"

Ange looks at it curiously. "What?"

"They serve hot foods. They have a swarm of waitresses. Money flows in like no-one's business. You know what they don't have?"

"An espresso machine?"

Daisy frowns. "Well, that too. No, they don't have spirit."

"Oh?"

"Look," Daisy sighs, "Café MacBean is me, right? I love the place. Have to. It's just me."

Ange briefly looks taken aback by this.

"End of the day. You're temporary. The agency could pull you out any time, or you could leave. That place though? The owner lives in, I think, Bristol. He gets report by ticker-tape once a month. Comes by every few months to make sure his manager's running the place right. No spirit there. No one there cares, except for their paycheck. Their customers only matter for their money."

"Hm." Ange considers this for a moment. "You are jealous."

"God damn right," Daisy mutters. "Mind you, one of these days, once I get my debt paid off, and get a few full-time waitresses? Maybe then I'll kick back and let greed replace pride."

Ange laughs. "Somehow, I don't think that will happen."

This makes Daisy smile. "Thanks. I know it sounds strange, but just having you say that makes me feel a bit better. Somehow."

"So how did you come to buy a café anyway? You're not that much older than I."

"That, my dear, is a talk to have later. Remind me tomorrow, while we recover from our pubbing."

"Ah. Right."

*-*

 

They visit several shops, looking around first to see what's available, and how much it costs, before committing. It takes several hours of looking and trying on clothes at several places, but finally Ange ends up selecting a new dress. It's light blue, knee length, and has elbow-length sleeves. She also gets a new long-sleeved, button down blouse, and a black knee-length skirt and black slacks to go with it. Not to mention several bloomers, a camisole, and a pink pyjama set. She makes a note of the shop, because she wants to come back here once she starts getting money.

They go to a restaurant. It's closer to teatime than either lunch or supper, but it isn't too crowded, and the food is good.

After going back to the flat to drop off Ange's new clothes, and spend some time freshening up, they head back out.

The pub is noisy and feels crowded, though there are several empty tables. Daisy steers Ange toward one in a corner, and they sit. Ange glances uncertainly around the room. Most of the people are young men, with a couple of older men sitting in one corner and a few women who aren't servers. One of the women who does work for the pub comes over to their table and leans in close with a smile.

"What can I getcha ladies?"

"Ale, two pints. One each."

"Right, have it out to you in a shake."

When she leaves, Ange leans in close to Daisy. "I'm not entirely sure about this place."

"Ah, it's fine. I come here all the time. It's perfectly safe."

"Hm."

The waitress comes back with their ales. She also sets a basket of crisps in the middle of the table. "Anything else, loves?"

"No thank you," Ange replies politely.

"We're good."

She nods and heads off to other customers.

Daisy picks up her glass, tips it back, and drains half. She exhales happily, slamming the glass down on the table and smirking at Ange. The younger girl sips at her drink. It's not as strong as the whisky, but she still decides to take it easy.

It isn't more than ten minutes before a pair of young men wander over to their table.

"Hullo ladies. You'd not happen to be free this evening?"

"We would," Daisy says with a widening smile. "Have a sit."

One of the men, large and bony with red hair and a thin beard, sits down by Daisy. The other man, smaller and dark-haired, with a day's growth of stubble, sits by Ange.

"Name's Bob. Me mate's Harry."

"Pleased," Daisy says. "Daisy. She's Ange."

The men raise pint-glasses of ale, and Daisy playfully taps her glass against the redhead's. Ange is somewhat less enthusiastic.

She takes another sip, and then starts to stand, looking as though she's just remembered something.

"Trouble, dear?" Daisy asks.

"Oh, I just," she shrugs and makes a vague motion with her hand.

"Have to use the loo?" Daisy asks.

Ange's cheeks redden. "You needn't say it aloud."

"Have fun!" Daisy giggles.

Ange threads her way through the crowd. She glances back, and when she's sure the men can't see her, she sits with a sigh at the bar.

"Problems?" The bartender is an older gentleman with a greying mustache.

"No, just a little uncomfortable."

"Hm. Care for something?"

Ange glances at the bottles along the wall behind the bar. "Scotch?"

"Neat or on the rocks?"

Ange looks uncertain at the question, and the tender smiles. "Ice?"

"Oh. Yes please."

"On the rocks it is."

She nods. "Rocks. Ice. I get it."

He chuckles, and sets the glass in front of her. She glances back toward the table, and sees Daisy peeking over at her. The older girl just smirks, then turns her attention back to the men at the table.

Ange takes a sip, and sees a young man with glasses and a thin growth of hair on his chin sit beside her.

"Buy you a drink?" He asks, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

She sets her glass down, and glances at him with a thin smile. "I have one, thank you."

He blinks, and nods. "Yes. I mean, buy you another one? When you're done. With that one."

She purses her lips, and looks at her Scotch. She's barely even touched it. "Well. I've a way to go here."

"Right. Um, Scotch, neat."

The tender nods at him, and when Ange looks up, gives her a sly grin.

Ange suppresses a sigh.

"So," the man says. "I don't think I've seen you here before."

"No," she replies.

"Of course, I don't really come here very often, you know."

The tender sets his drink in front of him, and he takes a sip.

Ange shifts on her chair, and looks at her glass.

"Eric," the man says.

"Your name?"

He nods, and she can't help but grin. "You're too nervous, Eric."

He shrugs, and glances over his shoulder. "Well, I mean ... Honestly, I don't do this."

"Ange."

"Pardon?"

"My name."

"Oh. Oh, right. It's a pleasure." He smiles and holds his hand out to her.

She looks at it with a chuckle, and shakes it.

He shifts again. "I guess that wasn't quite appropriate."

"You're fine," Ange says. She finishes her drink.

Eric's eyes widen. "Oh, you'll want another?"

"No, actually I won't. However, you may pay for this drink if you wish."

The tender is in front of them, and his smile turns very wide. Eric glances at her with wide eyes, then looks at the tender. "Sure."

The tender takes Eric's money, for both their drinks, and turns to other customers.

Eric looks at Ange, who is still sitting at the bar.

"Do you like this place?"

"Hm?"

"Because, honestly, it's a bit noisy and crowded."

Ange glances around the pub. "I suppose it is."

"Shall we go elsewhere?"

Ange looks at him in surprise. "What are you suggesting?"

"Oh," Eric coughs. "I mean, maybe just down the road. To a different place. It's a little less busy. Usually."

"Well. I suppose it would be alright."

Eric nods, and stands. As they walk out, Ange hears Daisy laughing.

"I told you you'd be lucky tonight!" the brunette cries out.

Ange, blushing, glances hurriedly at the woman, who is on her second pint. The two men are glaring at one another, until Daisy turns her attention back to them, at which point they ignore one another, with some effort.

Ange hastily exits the pub. The cold air hits her like a brick wall, and she blinks, and nearly staggers.

"Are you alright?" Eric asks, concerned.

"Yes. Yes, I am fine. I suppose the whisky was stronger than I expected."

He looks at her for a moment, before she nods with a smile. "I am fine."

"Alright."

*-*

 

They end up in a park. It's a clear night, a waning moon is just bright enough to be pretty, but not to drown out the stars. Ange is relieved that Eric has kept his hands to himself the entire time.

¨It's very pretty," Ange says quietly, looking up at the sky.

"It is," Eric agrees. "The moon is nice as well."

Ange nods. "Yes, it's nice that the stars are out tonight. It's just so very .…"

"Oh, right. Stars. I suppose they're nice."

Ange blinks, and looks at him. He blushes, and looks down at his feet. "Oh," she says with a thin smile.

"I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this. I mean, you are pretty, and seem nice. It's just, my friends put me up to this."

"Put you up?"

Eric clears his throat. "I don't get out much, you see. They think that I need a girl, so when they saw you sitting on your own .…"

"They prompted you to go and introduce yourself?"

"Yes."

She laughs quietly. "And right now, they're toasting you."

"Huh?"

Ange's smile is wide. "You did convince me to leave with you, after all."

"Oh," Eric says, stopping in place with widening eyes.

"Now, I assume you were honest, and that you know of a quieter place we could go?"

"I," he stammers, his blush deepening. "I live in a boarding house down the road. I suppose I was ... I mean, you don't want to come home with me, I suspect."

Ange sighs, though she is still smiling. "You do seem nice, Eric. And you could not possibly have missed my friend's pleasure at seeing us leave together."

"It was somewhat noticeable."

Ange nods. "So we're in the same boat, as it were. Now as it happens, I wouldn't mind finding a quieter place to have a drink, perhaps a light meal."

"Oh, right."

"Beyond that, naturally enough, I must politely decline."

"Yes. Yes, of course." Eric ponders for a moment. "Actually, I do know of a place, a restaurant I mean, that serves drinks even this late."

"Well, shall we?"

*-*

 

Ange and Eric spend a nice enough evening together. The restaurant is nice and cozy, and they serve fried and battered cheese sticks and potato wedges. They have several nice mixed drinks, and Ange doesn't quite notice her increasing inebriation. The time slips away from her, but she knows that they leave the restaurant and end up in the back seat of a cab.

The cab comes to a stop, and Ange recognizes the café. Eric holds the door open for her.

"Well," Ange says slightly surprised. "This looks like my home."

"Yes," Eric says, concern obvious in his voice. "I did tell you I'd see you home, and you told the cabbie you live in the flat above this place."

Ange blinks in greater surprise. "Did I?"

"Yes."

"Hm. Well, thank you, Eric."

She pulls away from him, and is steady enough to walk over to the front door of the café. She frowns.

"Is there a problem?" He asks.

"No, just that this is the café entrance. The door to the flats is over there."

"Oh."

She nods, and walks over to that door, taking great care to move as precisely as she can. The effort to look sober has the exact opposite effect.

Ange turns to him and nods again. "No."

"Pardon?"

"No, you may not kiss me."

"I," Eric stammers.

"You are a nice young man, but that is that."

"Right," he nods.

Ange stays put. "So, I am terribly sorry."

"No, that's fine. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to ask."

"No, it would not."

They stand in place for another awkward moment, then Ange turns and fiddles with her key.

Eric watches her another moment. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, of course." She manages to fit the key into the lock. She tries turning it a few times, and looks puzzled. "It isn't working," she mutters.

"Oh. Is that the right key?"

"Hm?" She glances in her handbag, shifting the contents around with a curious expression. "It must be."

Eric frowns, and tries the knob. It opens up.

"Oh," Ange says with a frown. "It wasn't locked, I suppose."

Eric clears his throat. "Well. I did have a nice evening."

"As did I," Ange says with a smile.

"May I call on you in the future?"

"I wonder," Ange says. "Perhaps."

"Um."

"Stop by the café sometime," she advises, gesturing at the storefront.

"Oh. Oh, alright. I shall."

She nods. "Good. Then I shall see you then, Mr Eric."

"Anderson."

"Pardon?"

"Eric Anderson."

Ange nods. "Right. Then I wish you good evening, Mr Eric Anderson."

*-*

 

Ange wakes up some time later when there is a knocking at her door. Her eyes open and she groans. She's only wearing bloomers, but she's too tired to care right now. "Come in," she says in a hoarse voice.

Daisy walks into the room, grinning. She's in her purple pyjama top. "So?"

Ange sighs, and sits up slowly in bed. "So?"

Daisy sits on the edge of the bed and folds her hands in front of her face. "How was he?"

Ange grumbles, and she shifts on the bed. "Eric was a perfect gentleman."

"Uh huh?"

"That's it. Nothing happened."

"I see. So you left the pub with this guy and learned his name, and judging from your overall demeanor got quite toasty, and I'm expected to believe nothing happened."

"Yes," Ange says, frowning.

"Be honest with me, kid."

"I am being honest. He was a nice enough person. I had a nice enough time. However, I am not interested in nor am I attracted to him."

"Huh. Why'd you leave the pub with him then?"

Ange sighs. "I decided that you were probably right. It isn't very nice being alone. So, I gave him a chance. As I say, he was nice enough. I am quite certain he'd be a good match, for someone who was interested."

Daisy looks at her for a moment. "You've never been interested in anyone? Never been in love?"

"That ... is not really true."

"Just now, you say you aren't interested. Earlier, you said you never met any boys you liked in school or work."

"I," Ange begins. Her cheeks turn red, and she looks down at herself. She pulls a cover up and over her chest, suddenly feeling subconscious about it. "There was someone."

"Oh?"

"We were children though, so it wasn't romantic. I don't think either of us knew what romance was back then. We met by chance, but became fast friends. We swore we'd be together forever."

"Didn't happen that way, though."

"No. I had to leave. It's a complicated story, and I'm not certain I want to go into details. Suffice it to say that I never saw her ... I mean, that person, again."

"A girl huh?"

Ange nods slowly.

Daisy grins, and puts her arm over Ange's shoulders. "You know, you could've just said you liked girls. Save us both a lot of trouble."

Ange shrugs. "I'd no idea how you would react to that."

"I guess that's fair. Seriously though, I'm about to say something that might be tough to hear, but bear with it."

Ange looks up at her curiously.

"This girl you think you fell in love with when you were kids? How long's it been?"

"Nine years, give or take."

"And have you met anyone else since then?"

"Well," Ange says, dropping her eyes again. "I've been attracted to one or two other persons, I'll admit. I never approached them."

"Afraid of being rejected because they were girls?"

"That too. I also, well, I did tell her that I'd stay with her forever."

"And, as you said, it didn't happen. See, I thought that's what this was about. Ange le Carré, you cannot isolate yourself from people just because you once met a girl a decade ago."

"It feels disloyal."

"Do you think she's done the same? Honestly? "

"No," Ange whispered, closing her eyes. "She is a member of a somewhat, how shall I say it? Prominent family. She has wealth and prestige, and I doubt she has the luxury to pine after someone like me."

"Huh. Well, that settles it then. I know you probably would rather find a girl, but this guy? Sounds like a good catch. Give him a shot. Can't hurt, can it?"

"Can't it?" Ange asked, looking back at her. "I am not really interested in him. Shouldn't I just tell him that?"

"You can't expect to just like someone the moment you meet them. You have to give them time, learn who they are and what they like and dislike. Talk to them, and so on. It's alright to see him right now as a nice enough person that you'd like to, maybe, be friends with. See if something else happens between you. If not, oh well. That's how love goes, or doesn't go as the case may be."

"Is that what you do?"

Daisy laughs. "Not so much. You want to know what I did last night?"

"Not especially," Ange mutters.

Daisy grins. "Those two guys almost came to blows over me. I told 'em I didn't want them to fight, and there was no reason we all couldn't .…"

Ange glowers, and holds a hand up. "I don't need to hear any more, thank you."

Daisy shrugs. "A fun time was had, is all I'm saying. But that's me and not you. I can do that."

"I don't even want to imagine doing that."

"You want old-fashioned romance, just with a girl. Am I right?"

Ange nods.

"Good luck with that."

Ange sighs.

"No offense kid, just the real world doesn't work like a cheap novel or a fairy tale. You're not going to have your little girl crush show up in your life after ten years' absence to sweep you off your feet. That just doesn't happen."

"I don't want to believe that."

"Of course not, because you're still a kid."

Ange frowns. "You're only a few years older than I am."

"It isn't just age though."

Ange shrugs. "I guess. You know, I asked you earlier how you came to own a café at such a young age?"

"Oh, that. Right. Which means you don't want to talk about your love life any more."

"Not particularly."

"That's fine. Alright, my story's a bit involved. Wanna get dressed and talk on the sofa?"

Ange nods. "And make coffee."

Daisy grins and stands up. "Already doing so."

Ange pulls herself out of bed even before Daisy leaves, and tugs her pink pyjama top over herself.

She joins Daisy on the sofa a moment later, and picks up a hot steaming mug of coffee. She sips, and nods. "Alright. I'm ready for your story."

Daisy nods. "Right. It goes back ten years, give or take. My dad was an engineer. Smart man, clever on his feet and good with his hands. He never got rich or anything, but we did alright. Then he lost a hand in an accident."

"Oh no."

"Lost his job because of it. Oh, he got a little pension, but it wasn't anything like before. He tried to find some other work, but no one wanted to hire a one-handed engineer. So, he turned to booze."

Ange looked at her coffee. "I see."

"He started getting drunk every night. Got mean, too. Abused mum, until she got scared enough to run off."

"She left you behind?"

"Yeah. I don't know where she went, or why she didn't take me with her, but I can't do anything about that now."

"What happened?"

"Dad just got worse. It got to the point he was almost never sober. He started hitting me for anything I did wrong. One day I got curious. He was half-asleep on the sofa, and there was an open bottle of whisky sitting on the table. I started to pick it up, but it was heavier than I expected, so it slipped. Shattered on the floor. He beat me to within an inch of my life."

"Mother of God."

"I spent the next few days hiding in my room, sneaking out to get food and water. Then when I felt up to it, I shoved some clothes in a bag and ran away. Now, I don't know if you have any idea how hard it is to be a kid on the streets of London ...."

"I do," Ange whispers, quiet and grim.

Daisy looks at her in surprise, then nods. "Alright. Then I don't need to detail it for you. I was out there for three days. I decided that, after all, walking on egg-shells around a drunken man was safer and less frightening."

"So you went back home?"

"Yeah. Dad welcomed me home, tearfully swore he'd never touch me again, and would give up booze. That didn't happen. I mean, he got better. He started being sober again, sometimes at least. He got a few odd jobs here and there. He still got drunk, and still got mean. He did beat me again, but never as severely, and always begged me to forgive him for it."

"You continued to stay even with that?"

"Like I said, the street scared me more than he did. Besides, after a certain point I found out that if I drank with him, he was calmer."

"Oh. So that's why?"

"It's probably a bad lesson to learn, but dad taught me a bottle of booze'll make you forget your troubles. Smooth them out, and make them sting a hell of a lot less."

Ange nods slowly.

"Anyway, I got a part-time job in a bakery when I turned 13. Loved that job. I was there just over two years, saving up as much money as I could, giving the rest to dad. Then, I heard about this abandoned café, for sale at a ridiculous price. My boss was amazingly supportive. She actually loaned me money to get the place. Dad did too, though he didn't have enough to really make a difference. I was able to buy the café and the flats above it, but to actually get the place ready and open it up, I had to take out a loan. Or three."

"With that rat Frankie?"

Daisy frowns. "Yeah. No decent, respectable bank would even talk to me. Anyway, the place isn't just a job for me. It really is part of me. Has been for three years, more or less."

Ange nods slowly.

Daisy sighs, finishing her coffee and standing up. "And speaking of. I'm opening the café up, even though it's a bit late."

"Oh. How much sleep did you get?"

"Don't worry about that, I've done this before. I can get drunk, get cozy with a nice guy or two, then work a full day running on coffee fumes."

Ange frowns. "I don't think that is a very good way to live."

"Nope, it really isn't," Daisy says with a grin. "Anyway, if you want to work too, come on down. When you feel up to it."

"I must say, I've never had a boss like you before."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Daisy says with a laugh, teasingly letting her pyjama top slip off her shoulders as she rounds the corner into the hallway.

Ange shakes her head, and finishes her coffee, then takes both dirty mugs to the sink. She stares at the growing collection of dirty dishes, and starts the kitchen tap running.

She hears Daisy cough, and turns sheepishly to see the woman, naked, standing in the hallway with her hands on her hips, and a frown on her face.

"They need to be done," Ange insists.

"No. They. Don't. Leave 'em!"

"Fine."

*-*

 

A little while after Daisy leaves, Ange does the dishes. Then she takes a quick shower and puts on her new dress. She arrives in the café, apron in place, in time to help Daisy with the lunchtime crowd.

It's while Ange is wiping down tables after the crowd thins that a taxicab pulls up to the sidewalk in front of the cab. She watches curiously, as a man exits the rear driver side door.

She recognizes Eric when he turns, sees her in the café window, and waves at her with a big grin on his face.

She blushes and waves back tentatively. She hears Daisy giggle at the counter, but ignores her.

The cab drives off, and Eric pushes the door open. The bell jangles, and Daisy's grin widens. "Good afternoon. Welcome to Café MacBean. How may Ange help you?"

Ange, face turning a brighter shade of red, glares at Daisy, who whistles, and starts to clean the espresso machine.

"Ah. Hello. I was hoping I'd have a chance to speak to you."

Ange takes a deep breath and turns to face him. "Yes. Well. You're here. And I suppose I did invite you."

"Say Ange," Daisy says with infuriating innocence, "when was the last time you took a break?"

Ange turns back to Daisy with a growing smile. "Why, I am uncertain, Daisy. Perhaps I've not taken one today since we've opened late."

Daisy nods sagely. "True, true. Well, take some time off then. Say, maybe you can take the time to talk to Mr ... what was the name again?"

"Anderson, ma'am. Eric Anderson."

"Right. Mr. Anderson."

"Why, thank you Daisy," Ange replies with forced sincerity.

"Don't mention it," Daisy smirks.

Eric gestures to a table, and Ange looks at it. Then she nods, and starts to sit. Eric pulls a chair out for her, and she nods thanks. He sits, and looks at Ange. Then glances at the counter.

"Oh. Um, should I order something?"

"If you'd like," Ange says politely.

"Just shout it out, and I'll bring it out to ya!" Daisy offers helpfully.

"Ah. Right. Black tea? And perhaps a slice of apple pie."

"Sounds great," Daisy says. "You'll have the same, Ange?"

"Of course," she says slowly.

Daisy nods, and vanishes into the back room with another giggle.

Ange takes a deep breath, and looks at Eric with a forced smile.

"So," he begins.

"Yes?"

"Um. Where to start? I had a wonderful time last night."

"Yes. I mean, I did as well."

"So. Well, I don't know when you've time off. I mean, I'd like to take you to supper again. I mean, a proper dinner."

"Oh. I suppose that would be nice, though I don't really have a set schedule."

"Oh?"

"Well, it's a small café. Just myself and Ms MacBean. So, we can't take too much time away from it."

"Oh," Eric says, a note of disappointment in his voice.

Ange looks down at her hands. "But," she says in a slightly guilty tone, "I can ask. I suppose."

Daisy returns from the back room, carrying a platter with two teacups. She places the platter on the bar long enough to pull two slices of pie from the display case, along with two spoons. She moves out to the table, smiling widely, and sets the food and tea down for them.

Eric smiles at Daisy. "Thank you." Then he glances at Ange. Then with a thin frown, gestures at her with his head.

Ange nods, and takes a deep breath.

"Say, Daisy?"

"Whenever you'd like," the brunette answers with a wide smile.

"Ah," Ange begins, her face turning red again.

"Well," Eric says, "Perhaps Saturday next? Oh, if that's quite convenient. I don't know when cafés of this sort are busy."

"Next Saturday's fine. Come by at six in the afternoon, and Ange'll be ready for you."

"Why," Ange says with increasingly strained politeness. "Thank you, Daisy. That is ... generous of you."

"Think nothing of it," she says with a grin, and then moves back behind the bar.

Ange turns back to Eric, smiles, and shrugs. "I suppose that is an advantage of being such a small café."

Eric nods, and eats a spoonful of pie. "Oh. This is good."

"Yes. Quite nearly everything here is good."

Eric glances at her uncertainly, but Ange doesn't elaborate.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the next few days, Ange takes on more and more responsibilities, giving Daisy more chance to bake, and to run necessary errands for the café.

Today, she goes to a grocers to buy cinnamon, a spice she's using more of. She considers adding it to her next supply delivery. Bill should be by tomorrow, and she can place the order then.

She takes her time, reveling in the freedom that having a trustworthy employee brings her. She's had other girls working for her of course. She couldn't have made it for three years entirely on her own. Ange is the first one she doesn't feel the need to watch every moment.

When she returns, it's a little before teatime. She washes up, stores the cinnamon she's bought, and pulls her apron on. She looks in to the café, and sees Marilla and her girls sitting at a table, happily eating sweets.

"Welcome back, Daisy," Ange says with a smile.

"Things good here?"

"Yes, as you can see."

"Great. Grab an espresso and sit for a few minutes. I'll watch the front, but I'll need you ready and rested when the rush hits."

"Right." Ange makes herself a mug, then retreats to the back room.

Daisy watches Marilla and the others finish up, seeing pleased looks on all their faces.

"Thanks for stopping by again," Daisy says.

"Oh, thank you for having such delightful food," Rita, the girl with glasses, chirps.

They head out, and as they do a familiar trio of students from Queen's Mayfair enter. They walk up to the counter, smug looks on their faces.

"Well, I see that horrid girl isn't here any longer," the dark haired girl says.

"Yes, terrible tragedy that," Daisy says shaking her head.

Twin-tails and side-bun exchange shocked glances, and the dark-haired girl clears her throat. "Oh. Um. Tragedy?"

"The poor thing was simply devastated."

"What ... what happened?"

"Oh you know, it's not very easy being a waitress. Putting up with horrible customers every day. Having them accuse you of things you didn't do, just because you can't fight back. You're supposed to be polite, whatever lies they tell. Things like that, you know?"

"Oh."

"Lily," Twintails says, "I'm sure what you said didn't ... I mean, it was just a little bit of fun, right?"

Lily, the dark-haired girl, swallows, and nods. "Yes. Yes, I'm quite certain of it."

At that moment, Ange walks through the door, and her eyes widen.

Lily and the other two gape. "What? You ... you said?"

"What?" Daisy asks. "Oh, you thought I was saying something happened to her, huh? Got concerned? Worried? Nah, was just idly commenting about how terrible some customers insist on being."

Ange shifts nervously on her feet.

The bell at the door jangles.

"Ange, be a dear and take their orders?" Daisy says, before greeting the new customers.

Ange glances uncertainly at Lily, who blushes, and looks at her hands.

"Well. I mean, I was just teasing you."

"Yes," Ange nods.

"I didn't mean to really hurt your feelings."

"No, of course not."

Lily frowns at her friends. "From now on, we are to treat her with the utmost respect and kindness."

"Yes Lily," both intone, their cheeks turning red.

"So," Ange says slowly. "What can I get for you?"

"Tea," Lily says. "Black tea."

"Two," Twin tails says.

"And Darjeeling Oolong," side-bun says. The other two glance at her, and she shrugs.

Ange nods, a smile returning to her face. "And anything to eat?"

"Have you apple cobbler?" Lily asks, uncertainly.

"Of course. Three cobblers?"

The other two nod.

"I'll bring it out to you," Ange says with a widening smile.

"We'll ... wait here at the counter," Lily says with a cough.

*-*

Routine sets in. Up well before dawn. Yawn, stretch, pad out into the corridor to see if Daisy has finished her shower. Sometimes Ange sees her entering the bathroom, sometimes she sees her leaving. She isn't bothered any more when Daisy is naked. The woman is very comfortable in her skin, and that puts Ange at ease.

The morning routine at the café is simple. Check everything. Turn the lights and oven and espresso machine on. Start the baking, and sign for any deliveries that come in.

She's becoming used to the particular quirks of certain customers. The old couple's predictability, the playful flirtations of the workmen, and the wide-eyed wonder of the younger schoolgirls as Ange or Daisy makes espresso.

The element that's out of place is Eric, who shows up once before the Saturday that they've planned to go out to supper. Daisy continues being infuriatingly coy, giving Ange a convenient break when the man shows up.

On Saturday at half-past five, Daisy comes out to the café and sets her hand on Ange's back. She looks back at Daisy, who is grinning very widely.

"You can take off now. You've got to prepare for tonight."

"Yes," Ange says through clenched teeth. "Yes, I must. Thank you so very much Daisy."

The older girl's grin becomes a mischievous smirk. "Don't do anything I'd do."

"No danger of that," Ange mutters as she heads out to the back room to pull off her apron.

She trudges up the stairs with a sigh, and changes out of her blouse and skirt. She borrows some of Daisy's perfume (she has permission of course) and runs a brush through her hair. She doesn't put all that much effort into it, but there's no point looking slovenly.

She returns to the café just after six, in her blue dress and wearing a coat that Daisy bought for her a few days ago in recognition of the cooler weather.

Eric is sitting at the counter, and smiles, shy and eager in equal measures.

"Good evening, Ange. You're looking lovely."

"Well," Ange says, her cheeks reddening. "If you're ready?"

"Oh, yes of course. I've made reservations at Lorraine River Restaurant."

"Oh, swanky," Daisy says teasingly. "You know, it's traditional to follow up a dinner there with a night's stay at the hotel."

Ange glares at Daisy, and Eric's eyes widen. "Oh. Well. I mean, I don't think either of us is ready for that."

"Aw, too bad," Daisy says, not easing up one bit. "They've such very nice rooms. Even private bathrooms, with nice big tubs, suitable for two .…"

"Yes," Ange hisses, her face bright red. "Yes, thank you Daisy. Perhaps some later time."

Eric and Ange hastily retreat before Daisy can embarrass them further.

They are silent in the back seat of the taxicab. Ange focuses out her window, and Eric fidgets, glancing her way now and then uncertain quite what to say or do.

Before long, they arrive at the Hotel Lorraine, and the cab pulls up to the side entrance that's closest to the River Restaurant.

Eric hurries out of the passenger side door, and opens Ange's door. She steps out, not taking the hand he offers her.

He clears his throat, and pays the cabbie, who drives off.

"Well," he says. He coughs, and gestures to the door. "We have a reservation."

"Hm. This does look quite ... pricey."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Ange! I can afford to splurge tonight."

Ange nods, and doesn't say anything, She walks to the entrance, leaving Eric to wonder if he offended her.

Rather than think too much on it, he rushes to her side, intending to open the door for her. A red coated doorman is there though, and he foils Eric's plan by opening it for them, touching the brim of his cap.

"Ma'am."

"Thank you," Ange says,

"Yes," Eric says, sightly forced. "Thank you, sir."

*-*

The _maitre d_ _'_ is an older gentleman with a mustache, who speaks with a French accent. Ange can't quite tell if its genuine, or put on for show. Either way, there are no problems, and they are led to a table in a corner of the restaurant.

Its a very nice place, with crystal chandeliers that use electric lighting, and solid hardwood flooring. The tables are all covered with spotless white tablecloths, and there's a bewildering array of knives and spoons and forks sitting wrapped in a light blue cloth napkin.

Eric pulls out Ange's chair for her, and she mutters thanks, before sitting.

The waiter hands them both menus. Ange notes, with some annoyance, that hers doesn't print the prices of any of the items.

"The lady," Eric begins.

Ange takes a very deep breath, but says nothing.

"Will have _Poulet au Citron_." He glances at Ange. "If that's quite alright."

Her smile is forced, but she nods. "It sounds splendid."

"And I shall have _F_ _ilet_ _de B_ _œuf Béarnaise_ _._ with _Pommes de Terre en Quartiers_. We'll both have the _S_ _alade Waldorf_ _._ Um, no soup I believe.

"Very good, sir. Ma'am."

The waiter leaves, and Eric leans in with a thin frown. "You're not pleased with the menu?"

"I prefer to select my own food, thank you."

Eric clears his throat. "Yes. Sorry. It's just tradition, but I'll bear it in mind for the future."

"Hm. Well, I suppose we've a few moments before our salad arrives."

"So we do."

"Tell me about you, then."

Eric nods, then looks at his hands. "Ah. Right. Well, there's not much I can tell. I'm a, well, a scientist. I actually work for a branch of the government, so ... I mean, it's rather secretive."

"Is that so?" Ange does her best to feign interest, but without any details it's difficult.

Eric nods. "It's really quite fascinating work, and very important. Just not something I can discuss at length. Um, you understand, I hope?"

Ange shrugs. "Naturally."

Eric is quiet for a moment. "I do have a question for you. Something that came up, after a fashion, that night ...."

The waiter arrives at that moment with their salads and wine. He displays the bottle to Eric, who nods, and Ange, who does the same. Even though the label doesn't mean anything in particular to her.

He pours a small amount in Eric's glass. He tastes it, nods, and the waiter tops it up before filling Ange's.

When the waiter leaves, Eric raises his glass. "To you, my dear."

Ange frowns, but taps her glass against his. "Cheers."

They sip the wine.

"Good," Ange notes. She then starts to eat her salad. She isn't quite sure about the combination of apple, walnut, and mayonnaise, but doesn't complain. "And your question?"

"Right. Um," Eric begins uncertainly.

"Yes?"

"Who is Charlotte?"

Ange blinks, her cheeks turning red. "Pardon?"

Eric clears his throat, and takes a hasty sip of wine.

"The other night, you became quite ... emotional. Misty-eyed, even. I wasn't clear who this Charlotte girl was. Your sister?"

"Something of the sort," Ange says vaguely.

"And I suppose something happened to her?"

"I," Ange began. She takes a long sip of wine. "I was forced to move away from her."

"From ... from your sister?"

"Yes," Ange says with a nod.

Eric's brow furrows.

"It is a complicated story, and one I'd rather not discuss at present," Ange says.

"Oh. Alright. But, you had to leave her behind? She didn't die?"

"Heavens no."

"I suppose that's a relief."

"Not really," Ange mutters. She blinks, and hurriedly takes another long sip of wine.

"Sorry, that was insensitive."

Ange shrugs. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Right. Sorry. So, tell me more about you?"

"Me?"

Eric nods. "I mean, if you'd like."

"Sure. Although to be frank, there's little to tell. I work at Café MacBean, and ...."

The arrival of their main dishes interrupts Ange. She decides to focus on it, and put off discussing personal matters.

When the waiter leaves, Eric cuts his steak. "You were saying? You work at the café?"

Ange freezes for a moment, then chews the bite of chicken in her mouth. "This is quite good."

Eric takes a bite of his steak, and nods. "It ought to be. The chef's a master from a fine Parisian school."

"Mm. That does explain it."

Eric sighs, and sets his knife and fork down. "Ange, I would really like to learn more about you."

Ange nods, and swallows. "Yes. Well, as I was saying, there's little to tell. I work as a waitress at a café. I don't really have any particular advantages. I'm not rich or pretty .…"

"On the contrary, you're very beautiful."

"Thank you, I suppose."

Eric picks up his fork, and starts eating his potatoes.

"Anyway," Ange continues, "I don't have anything beyond the most basic of educations. I've earned a grand total of one paycheck from my current job, and am staying in my employer's spare room rent-free until I can get my feet under me."

Eric sighs. "Ange, I don't care about wealth. You're a very smart young woman, I can tell. Besides, you _are_ still young. You could return to school, if you've a mind to."

"I haven't that luxury," Ange says quietly.

Eric gestures with his knife. "You could have."

Ange sets her knife and fork down, frowning. "Eric, I'd rather not discuss that with you."

"I don't mean to offend you. I think it's terrible that you haven't the opportunity to continue your education .…"

"I did say I would rather not discuss it," Ange snaps.

Eric winces, and looks down at his food.

Ange sighs. "I am sorry."

"No, I ought to apologize to you."

Ange picks up her knife and fork, and eats another bite. "This is good," she says. "The lemon sauce really brings out the flavor of the chicken."

"Yes," Eric says with a nod. "Yes, it does."

*-*

The night is dark, and the sky is clear and dusted with stars. Ange hugs her coat closer around her body.

"Cold?" Eric asks.

"It is a bit chilly," Ange says casually.

They are strolling through the park. The same one they had visited the night they met.

Eric puts his arm around Ange's waist, but she pulls away from him with a frown.

"Um. If you're cold then .…"

"No, that is fine."

Eric nods, and puts his hands in the pockets of his trousers. "So. It's another pretty night."

"Hm."

"Ange, I really do want to get to know you."

"Eric, I am not interested in you."

Eric stops dead in his tracks. "What?"

Ange stops also, and turns to face him. "I am sorry."

"What? Did I ... did I say something wrong? Do something? I mean, if you tell me, I can work on .…"

"No, Eric. You have been a perfect gentleman. I have no complaints, nor any desires to see you behave differently. I am, simply put, not attracted to you. I do not desire to have a relationship at this time."

"Then ... then why? I mean, why accept my invitation."

Ange sighs. "I decided to give you a chance. You are a gentleman, and quite ... nice. I am firmly convinced that you shall make a woman very happy. However, I am equally convinced that I can not be that woman."

"Oh."

"I am sorry. If it's any consolation, there is no one else at present. I'm not interested in a relationship of any sort, with any person."

"Oh," Eric repeats. He shuffles awkwardly and nods. "Right. So ... right."

Ange sighs again. "I am sorry."

"No, it's ... I mean, you can't just find someone romantically suitable on command, right?"

Ange looks down at her feet, then closes her eyes.

"Well. I mean, I did enjoy spending time with you, Ange. I'll ... I'll give you my card, so if you do change your mind .…"

"I shall not," she replies, looking up at him.

"Right," he nods. "Well. Right."

"Good night, Mr. Anderson. I do wish you well."

"Right," he repeats. He claps his hands together, and stares at Ange for just another moment, before turning and walking away.

*-*

Daisy decides to close up shortly after Ange and Eric head out, since no new customers come in. She finishes up the evening tasks, cleaning the tables and shutting down the oven and lights and espresso machine. She locks up all the doors, and heads up to her flat. It's surprising how quiet and empty the place feels now.

Daisy sets two clean glasses out on the coffee table before realizing what she's doing. She sighs, and decides to leave it out anyway. If Ange comes home early, which she half-suspects will happen, she'll probably want a drink.

Daisy opens a bottle of whisky and pours herself a glass. She takes a sip, then heads back to her room to strip off her clothes in favor of her purple pyjama top. She pads back out to the living room barefoot and settles in to the sofa.

She downs her whisky in one shot, and refills her glass. She fidgets, and looks at the clock. It's barely half-past eight. Too early to go to sleep. She sighs, again, and takes another sip of her drink. She stands up and glances out the window at the street below. It's bathed in yellow light from the gas-powered streetlamps.

London never entirely goes to sleep, and there's a thin trickle of foot traffic. A cab passes by, and Daisy watches to see if it stops in front of the café. It goes past. She closes the curtain, returning to the sofa. She finishes her whisky, and pours more into her glass.

Quarter til nine. It's going to be a long night.

It's a quarter past nine when the flat door opens. Daisy turns and forces a mischievous grin to her lips. "So? How was it?"

"I believe that I have killed Eric Anderson," Ange sighs, closing and locking the door behind her.

Daisy shakes her head. "Shot him down?"

"It was a cold-blooded murder," Ange says as she plops down into the sofa beside Daisy.

The older girl lifts the bottle of whisky, and Ange nods eagerly. She drains the glass once it's full, and Daisy refills it.

"So, you told him outright, huh?"

"Yes," Ange nods. "I decided it was better to just end it cleanly. No point dragging things out. It would have come to it sooner or later, and it's best for him to move on. Find someone who is interested in him and not merely going through the motions."

"Hm," Daisy nods and sips her drink. "I suppose I can see that, sure. How're you feeling?"

"Well, in fact. Quite well. I don't regret the time that I spent with him. He was nice enough."

"Nice enough. You keep saying that."

Ange shrugs. "Not much else to say. He would be fine as a friend, though I don't see that happening."

"Ah well. You'll find someone one day, Ange. I feel it."

Ange sips her whisky, then stands. "I'm going to get more comfortable."

"Sure. I'll top your drink off."

"Thank you."

After a moment, Ange comes back out wearing only her pink pyjama top. She sits down heavily on the couch, sighs, and leans against Daisy, putting her arms around the older girl's waist.

Daisy, somewhat surprised, puts an arm over the girl's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Hm. Tired. Frustrated. And for all that, very thankful for all the things you've done for me."

"Oh," Daisy says. She feels her cheeks heat up, and shifts her weight awkwardly. "Don't mention it. Seriously, you needed a hand so I gave it to you."

Ange pulls away from Daisy, sitting back up and picking up her drink. "Still. Most people wouldn't have gone so far as you have. Thank you."

Daisy smiles, and lifts her glass. Ange taps their glasses together.

"Cheers," they both say.

*-*

Sunday, the traditional day of rest, is an unusual day in the café. They see a fairly brisk early morning business, considering very few factories or offices are open. Noon is far quieter than usual. People staying home don't go out to a café, and church-goers either go back home for a midday meal, or stop at a restaurant that serves hot food.

Business picks up again at teatime, though the Queen's Mayfair students are conspicuous for their absence.

Daisy closes up early once the teatime crowd thins out.

"Between evening church services and suppertime, almost no one comes in this late on a Sunday," she observes.

Ange doesn't question it, and goes through the evening routine as ever.

"You go to church?" Daisy asks casually, as they finish up.

"Not really," Ange says. "You?"

Daisy grins. "Nope. Don't want to sit still for an hour while a man stands there telling me how everything I do is a sin, and I'll surely burn in hell for it."

"Ah, I see. Yes, that would tend to damper the experience."

Daisy and Ange walk up the stairs. "I figure," Daisy continues, "if there's a God, He's just fine with me how I am, or I wouldn't be this way."

"Hm. Interesting perspective."

"It says something about 'made in His image' right?"

"Something of the kind," Ange says vaguely.

"So I figure, He's either a bastard who condemns people for just being themselves, or just lets it all kinda be. Either way, there's no point worrying about it while we're alive. Plenty of time to care in eternity."

Ange doesn't answer this, instead selecting a bottle of Scotch and placing it on the coffee table.

Daisy pads back out in her purple pyjama top, and grabs two glasses. "See," she continues, "this right here's what's important."

Ange steps into her room, not bothering to close the door as she strips. Daisy, holding two glasses of whisky, leans in the doorframe.

"What is?" Ange asks. She takes one glass and sips. Being undressed around Daisy doesn't seem to bother her, but she still sets the glass down on her dressing table to slip on her pyjama top.

"Friends. Good booze. Mixing the two."

Ange picks her glass back, and follows Daisy out to the living room. They sit side by side on the sofa, close enough their legs brush together.

"Hm. I suppose that I can see that."

Daisy nods. "We're alive now, right?"

Ange nods, sipping.

"That's what we have to focus on. Being alive. I mean, you're here now with me. That is, in my mind, way more important than some mystical, vague, old man sitting up in the sky."

"So, you focus on what's right in front of you?"

"Yeah."

Ange nods, and leans in against Daisy, closing her eyes. The older girl puts an arm over her shoulder, holding her drink in her free hand.

"You alright?" Daisy asks.

"Hm. Tired."

"Frustrated?" Daisy asks.

"No, not so much tonight."

"Finish your drink and go to bed then. Tomorrow's another day."

Ange sighs and sits up. She sips her drink, but she smiles. "You know, I don't believe I've ever worked so hard, for so many days in a row, as I have here."

"Yeah?"

"Mm hm. And even if I am tired at the end of a day, I don't regret it. In fact, I think I feel better than I have in ... a decade?"

"Good to hear. It isn't gonna lighten up anytime soon you know."

"I imagined that to be true," Ange says. She finishes her drink, and then stands up, carelessly stretching her arms above her head with a yawn.

"Calling it?" Daisy asks, with a smirk.

"Yes. Good night, Daisy."

"Good night, Ange."

*-*

It's the slow period of the morning, when the reliable old couple have left, but before the first-shift workmen arrive for breakfast. Daisy is sitting on a stool behind the counter, a half-full mug of espresso beside her. She's reading a magazine, and trying not to go back to the kitchen. She's giving Ange space, so she feels confident doing all the various tasks needed to run the café. Like making the various pastries.

When the bell above the door rings, Daisy is happy for the interruption. A young woman, about Daisy's age, enters. She wears a yellow dress with puffy sleeves, a wide red ribbon collar, a wide-brimmed hat, and pince-nez glasses.

"Good morning," Daisy smiles. "Welcome to Café MacBean. How may I help you?"

The woman hurries over to the bar. "Yes, I do hope that you can. You have an espresso machine? Yes, I see that you do."

"Espresso then?" Daisy asks, a trace of amusement in her voice.

"If you please?"

"Anything to eat?"

"Well, I am running behind schedule today, so I'm not certain."

Daisy begins her routine making espresso, with less flair and more speed. "Well, take a look at what I have."

The woman nods, and glances in the display case. "It does look quite delicious, though again, I am short on ... oh. Doughnuts."

Daisy laughs. "Want one?"

"Please. Cinnamon sugar."

"Sure thing!"

Daisy finishes the coffee, sets it on the counter, then pulls out a doughnut and places it on a plate. She takes the woman's money.

The woman sips the coffee. "Well. It is fast at least."

"Yeah, it's an acquired taste."

"Indeed. I wonder you don't offer café au lait."

"Well," Daisy says settling back onto the stool. "I don't really have the facilities for it. The kitchen's not directly connected to the café, and really most customers who want espresso want it fast, like you."

"There is a café in Bordeaux where the owner has been experimenting with steamed milk. He's modified the steam release valve," the woman gestures vaguely toward the top of the machine, "so he can place it in a mug of milk. It both heats and foams the milk."

"Interesting," Daisy mutters. "May have to think about that."

The woman nods, and takes a bite of her doughnut. "Oh. Oh, this is quite good. Did you make these yourself?"

Daisy laughs. "No, alas. I get them wholesale from a shop down the road. They don't serve coffee though."

"I see. Still, it is quite good." She glances at the display case. "I wonder, could you by chance sell me, say, another four? To take with me to work, I mean."

Daisy nods, and stands. "Of course." She takes a small paper bag and lines it with wax paper. She places the doughnuts in the sack, one at a time, placing a sheet of wax paper between each one. She folds the top, places it in front of the woman, and rings up the total.

"Is this right?" she asks with a frown. "It doesn't add up."

"Well, I've given you a discount for ordering several."

"I see." She finishes her coffee and doughnut, pays, and then grabs the bag.

"Well, thanks for coming by today. Be sure to come back!"

The woman smiles widely. "I shall."

*-*

That evening, Ange goes directly into her room, and Daisy thinks for a moment she's going to turn in early. She still sets out two clean glasses, just in case. As she's opening a bottle of whisky, Ange comes back out wearing her pink pyjama set, both the top and the leggings. Daisy feels a vague twinge of disappointment, but shoves it aside.

"Drink?"

"Please," Ange says as she sits.

Daisy pours out equal amounts into both glasses, and takes a sip. "I'm changing into something comfier. Don't wait for me."

Ange nods, and takes a drink.

Daisy changes into her purple pyjama top. she considers, just for a moment, slipping on the bottoms as well. Maybe Ange is becoming uncomfortable? But she shoves that aside. The top's enough, and covers everything.

She pads back out to the sofa, sits down, and picks up her glass.

It's Ange who raises her glass in Daisy's direction. "Cheers."

Daisy smiles and taps their glasses together.

"So," Ange sighs, setting her glass down. "I've been thinking."

Another twinge of unease courses though Daisy. "Oh? About what?"

"You've opened your home to me. You've told me about your childhood, and have been nothing but frank with me."

"Yeah?"

"I've been rather less forthcoming."

Daisy shrugs, and settles back in the sofa. She holds her drink in one hand, and rests her other arm along the back, behind Ange. "That's fine though. You don't owe me anything but the work I pay you for."

Ange frowns at her. "But I do. You've given me far more than just a paycheck."

"Well, if you want to talk, I'll listen."

Ange nods. She picks up her drink, and settles back into the sofa. Her hair tickles Daisy's arm.

"I never knew my parents," Ange begins. She sips her drink and takes a deep breath. "My earliest memories are of the orphanage that I grew up in."

Daisy drinks. She doesn't say anything, deciding now is a time to just listen.

"When I was just turned seven, so about nine years ago, I was adopted. I say it that way, though the man was hardly a parental figure. He adopted me, and several other children, to run as a gang more than a family. The pretty little girls he made beg in the streets. The children with more nimble fingers, boys and girls alike, he trained as pick-pockets. Older boys, bigger and stronger, he made into thugs. Both to protect his children from competition, and to muscle out that competition. And of course to act as a threat to keep the weaker children in line."

Daisy shakes her head slowly, and takes a long drink of her whisky.

"I was trained as a pick-pocket. You may not believe it, but I was something of a tomboy back then."

Daisy laughs. "I can believe it, actually."

Ange smiles at her. "I was actually quite an adept little thief. One day I demonstrated my talents by picking the man's pockets of his keys, his wallet, and his knife."

Daisy laughs again.

"Needless to say, he was impressed. He was also concerned. From that day on, he made certain to carefully search my person every evening."

Daisy's expression falters. "Oh."

"We had a quota to meet each day. If we failed to meet it, he would painfully flog us on the arm."

Daisy sighs.

"If we were consistently poor at bringing in money, or were disobedient or rebellious, he would turn us over his knee, and spank our bare bottoms."

Daisy drains her glass, and pours more whisky for herself.

"I was rarely struck, at least at first. However, I hated the man. He forced us one day to watch while he severely beat a young girl who had attempted to flee. He left her broken and bleeding on the floor, and the poor dear died the following morning."

Daisy winces.

"One drawback to being a talented thief was the fact that he expected ever greater results from me. It was summer of that year that I found that one of the—I should say, a very wealthy mansion—had a break in the wall. It was too small for any adult to crawl in, but I found it the right size. I had intended to enter, steal what I could, and flee before being discovered."

Ange drains her glass, and nods when Daisy lifts the bottle to refill it.

"I found myself staring face-to-face with a young girl that was my mirror image."

Daisy's brows raise.

"She had, like me, blonde hair and blue eyes. We were, for all practical purposes, identical. She tumbled backward in surprise, and I fell out into a neglected corner of the manor's yard. We stared at each other for many long minutes, before the other girl's face broke out into a wide, if shy, grin. She took me in, gave me food, sneaked me into the bath to clean me up, and experimentally made me wear a dress identical to her own. We were so close in appearance that her guardians and servants couldn't tell us apart."

"Huh. That's something."

"Indeed. Over that summer, I visited her every day. We played pranks on her servants, and they never caught on. In fact, one night she sent me into the dining room when her extended family was over. They were none the wiser, and I had some of the most amazing food I'd ever eaten."

"This is the girl you had the crush on?"

"Yes. We pledged we'd be together forever. She taught me to read and write, and even to play piano."

"But?"

Ange sighs. "It didn't last. Thinking on it, I realize now it couldn't have lasted. I couldn't very well steal from her. Not after we'd become such close friends. I started missing my quota, receiving increasingly severe lashes on my arms. If you look close, you can still see the scars. One day I brought home so very little, that he grew infuriated. He had his thugs strip me naked to ensure that I wasn't hiding anything from him. When he found that I wasn't, he bent me over his knee. Normally, he used his open palm to spank us. That time, he used a wooden rod."

"Ouch."

"Yes. Even with that. I still returned to the house. I loved her far more than I feared him or his punishments. When I returned with nothing to show for it, I was again stripped. The children were assembled, and he beat me almost to death."

Both girls drain their glasses, and Daisy refills them. Her hands are shaking, and Ange is trembling.

"The other children pitied me. They nursed me back to health, as best they could, and even the man's thugs kept me safe. They deflected his anger, kept his attention away from me. Then, when I had recovered enough to be able to walk again, they helped me escape. Knowing full well that he would discover my absence, and very likely punish them severely. I ran back to the orphanage that I grew up in. The young women who worked there believed my story, but the man who ran the place said that I was in the wrong for abandoning my legal guardian. He turned a blind eye, however, when I was secretly sent off to Stanford Hill Orphanage."

"Oh. I've heard about them."

"I was sheltered there, nursed back to full health, and then given the education that, by law, I ought to have received the entire time but did not. Frankly, you know the rest of the story: at 13 I began to take on part-time jobs through the agency, and when I turned 16 I was sent here. Of course, that is in part due to the fact that once I turned 16 I was no longer eligible to stay at the orphanage."

Daisy nods, not quite certain what to say.

Ange sets her glass down, and leans against Daisy. The older girl hastily sets her own glass down, to wrap her arms around Ange's shoulders.

"That's my story," Ange says, her voice wavering.

"I am so sorry," Daisy whispers.

Ange sniffles, trembling. Daisy rubs her back softly. Holding onto her tightly, as she feels Ange shake. The younger girl can't hold back any longer, and sobs, crying openly against Daisy's shoulder.

Daisy just holds onto her while she cries. Minutes pass, how many she didn't know. It didn't matter. Finally, Ange sniffles, and pulls back.

"Sorry," she whispers.

Daisy gently wipes Ange's cheeks with her thumbs, cupping her chin, stroking her face gently. "Don't be. I'm always here for you. Alright?"

Ange nods, sniffling again. "I am so very grateful for you, Daisy."

After the story, neither girl felt much like being alone. They empty the bottle of whisky, and Daisy brings out two clean glasses and opens a bottle of Bourbon.

After a few glasses, things turn fuzzy. Daisy remembers that Ange talks more about the girl: How beautiful and kind she always was. How she missed her so terribly, but was certain she would never see her again. The details fade, and after a time Ange stopped talking entirely. They empty the bottle of bourbon as well.

It is some time later that Daisy finds herself waking up. She is still on the couch, and feels a weight on her lap. She looks down to see Ange, her head pillowed on Daisy's thighs. She is curled up on the sofa, fast asleep.

Daisy sighs, and gently runs her fingers through Ange's hair. The girl mutters, and shifts. Her eyes open slowly, and she rolls onto her back, looking up with bleary, bloodshot eyes.

"Morning," she mutters.

"Morning," Daisy answers with a thin smile.

Ange sits up slowly, with a groan. "Sorry."

"For?"

"Falling asleep like that."

Daisy shrugs. "It's fine. How do you feel?"

"Good. Well, no. More like my head could pop open at any moment."

Daisy nods. "We did drink a fair bit."

"An unfair bit," Ange grumbles.

"Maybe we should cut back a little?"

"Only consume one bottle a night, perhaps."

"Yeah. You up to working today?"

"I feel that I must," Ange said quietly.

"No, that isn't true."

"It is. If I don't, then I will dwell on things. Think about that girl that I lost, and everything else. I'd rather not today, and it's better drowning those thoughts with work than with whisky."

"Oh."

Ange shrugs, and pulls herself up to her feet. "I'll be fine though. I know, if nothing else, that I'm not alone."

Daisy looks at her in some surprise, and Ange smiles.

"Thank you, Daisy. I'll never be able to say it enough. Thank you."


	5. Chapter 5

Ange is sitting on a stool behind the counter, reading a book. It's been a slow day, and Daisy has been in the kitchen for most of it.

When the bell above the door rings, Ange looks up with a smile, that quickly becomes forced. Entering the cafe is an old, grizzled man with a ruddy face and an even ruddier nose. He has a scraggly beard and wears rumpled clothes that have seen better days. Most noticeable of all, a metal two-pronged hook sticks out of the right sleeve of his jacket.

Ange recovers quickly, and says the usual greeting in a cheerful voice: "Good morning and welcome to Café MacBean. How may I help you?"

"Well," the man says in a gravely voice accompanied by a widening grin. "You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?"

Ange's smile widens just a touch, as unease and annoyance rise in her.

The man laughs and walks over to the counter. "Tell me, is your coffee any good, lass?"

"I'd like to think it is, sir."

He nods, coughs, and sits down on a stool with a grunt. "But, can you make it fast? I haven't really got all day."

"We do offer espresso, sir."

"Do you? Hm. alright, one of those then. Oh, you make these yourself?" he asks, gesturing at the pastries in the display cabinet.

"Most are baked in the store, yes."

"Well. Alright, how about a big slice of peach pie."

"Of course sir, it'll be ready in a moment."

She goes through her routine at the espresso machine. The man's demeanor is not of someone in a hurry, whatever his words, so she chooses flair over speed, including a broad grin and wink at the man.

His smirk widens, and he laughs. "Keep that up and I'll expect more than just pie and coffee."

Ange suppresses a shudder. "Oh, is that so? Well, I'll have to mind myself then." She smiles as she says it, and when he laughs again, gives him another wink.

She sets the coffee down, and pulls a plate of pie from the display case. When she sets it in front of him, he looks at it, then at her.

"And?" he asks with a mischievous grin

"And what, sir?"

"Hm. A kiss, maybe?"

Ange clears her throat, and is about to respond, when she hears the door to the back room open.

"Dad!" Daisy says in a chiding tone.

Ange blinks, and looks at her in surprise, then looks at the man. He laughs, and slaps his good hand on the countertop.

"Daisy!"

She shakes her head, and he rises up and reaches across the counter. They hug, and when they part, Ange looks between them again, with a thin but slightly less forced smile.

"Dad, this is my new girl, Ange le Carré. Ange, this is my dad."

"Call me Danny. It's rare to see such a pretty little thing like you here. Does my old tired eyes good."

Daisy laughs. "You say that to every girl that works here."

He laughs in response. "Its true every time."

"Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr MacBean. I've heard a lot about you."

He leans in closer to her with a grin. "Lies and slander, all of it!"

"I'm quite sure," Ange responds in a light tone.

He sits back down, and sips the coffee. "Hm, not too bad. Keep it up, and you'll be better than my daughter at making this stuff."

"How's it going, dad?"

He coughs, and scoops a spoonful of peach pie into his mouth. "Well," he says, with a full mouth, "got a steady job, cleaning corpses down at the morgue."

Ange just barely avoids wincing. "That doesn't sound terribly pleasant," she says.

"It's one of the foulest jobs I've ever had," he says with a grin. "Pays well though, and my clients don't talk back to me."

Ange blinks, and grins at this. "I suppose that would be one advantage."

Daisy shakes her head. "Anyway. I'm glad to hear you've got something. It's getting rougher out there. So I hear at least."

"You aren't wrong. The pension becomes thinner every month. And booze is getting dearer by the day."

Ange shifts awkwardly in her seat. "Well, if you'd like some time, I can go to the kitchen."

"Sure, that'd be alright." Daisy says.

Ange nods, and retreats to the back room.

Some time later, Daisy enters the kitchen.

"Sorry about that. I hope he didn't embarrass you too much."

"Not at all," Ange lies. "I was surprised though. The last you told me, he was still ... abusive."

"Last I told you, he had loaned me money to get this place going."

Ange nods, her cheeks heating. "Yes. Sorry."

"Don't be. The man's an abusive drunken bastard who makes me look straight and sober. I wouldn't be caught dead with him in private. But, for all that, he is trying. I don't hate him. I mean, he is my dad."

"Of course," Ange nods.

Daisy sighs. "Anyway, go out and mind the front."

"Yes ma'am," Ange responds.

*-*

The noon rush dies down. Daisy has retreated to the kitchen, and Ange sits behind the counter. She reads her book, both glad for the chance to catch her breath, and yet feeling an itching tingling at the back of her brain. Memories threaten to surface again.

She doesn't have to wait long, as the bell above the door jangles. It's an odd time of day, but far from unheard-of.

She looks up with a smile. A smile that falters fractionally when she sees the man enter the café. It's a workman, one that she recognizes from the morning rush.

"Good afternoon," she begins.

His smile widens, yet he pulls his cabbie-cap off his head and twists it in his fists.

"Ah. Afternoon ma'am."

"May I help you?"

He pauses for a moment, glancing down at his feet, before walking over to the counter. "I was just thinking. I mean, that maybe ...." he sits and clears his throat.

Ange's stomach twists into a tight knot. The man's been nice to her. Too nice, one might say. He always spends just a little bit more when Ange is out front, and has left her several very nice tips. She has played this up in the past, winking and smiling, generally making him feel welcome.

"Well," he continues, "I mean to say that I'm thinking that perhaps, just maybe we might spend some time together. I mean, we've neither of us much free time, but maybe it might be nice to spend it in each other's company, is all I mean to say."

And the bottom falls out of Ange's mood. How can she answer this? Accepting his suggestion is the very last thing she wants to do. If she refuses him, will he come back?

"Um," she begins. She clears her throat, and taps her fingers on her book. "I cannot."

"Oh," he replies, expression instantly deflating.

"It's nothing personal," Ange hastily says. "I'm forbidden from fraternizing with customers."

He nods. "Ah. Well. Yes, that does make sense. I just thought ... I mean, you've been so very friendly to me."

Ange's cheeks heat up, and she looks down at the book. "It's my job to make customers feel welcome."

He inhales deeply. "Right," he says with a sigh. "Of course it is. I mean, sure. Well. Don't I feel the fool?"

Ange looks up at him, reaching out and placing her hand on his. He looks at her in surprise.

"You are no fool," she says quietly. "I truly am sorry."

He nods. "Of course. Well. I mean, things can change, yeah? Maybe one day?"

"Perhaps," Ange says. A gentle, white lie.

He pulls his hand away, and stands. "Oh. Well, I'm sorry to have taken your time then. Um. I have to be back to work. I've implied something's come up, so ... well. I'll see you tomorrow morning?"

Ange smiles, a thin and forced expression. "Of course."

He turns and walks back to the door, stopping to give her a quick bow at the door. Then he abruptly retreats out into the street.

Ange needs a drink. She settles for espresso.

*-*

"You alright, kid?"

Ange has just tossed her apron into the basket of laundry in the back room of the café. She's been quiet since noon, and Daisy is concerned.

"I am fine," Ange says. Her voice is flat, and she doesn't meet Daisy's eyes.

She nods a silent thanks when Daisy hands her a cheese sandwich, and doesn't say anything as she locks up, or checks the mailbox. There's an envelope, which Ange hands to her without a word, without even looking at it.

And Ange is the first up the stairs, unlocking the flat door just as Daisy reaches the top stair.

"I believe I am going to bed," Ange finally says, as Daisy closes and locks the door behind her.

"Oh." Daisy glances at the sofa.

It's been a month, or just over. Ange hasn't shown any desire to move, even after a pair of paychecks. Daisy hasn't brought the subject up. It's actually been nice.

"Well, if you need to talk?"

"I am simply tired," Ange replies. "Good night, Daisy."

"Night."

Ange closes her door behind her, and Daisy wanders into the kitchen. She grabs two glasses. She hesitates a moment, then places one back on the shelf.

She places the glass on the coffee table, filling it with Bourbon, then walks into her room. She changes into her purple pyjamas, pulling on the leggings for the first time in who knows how long.

She pauses at the door to Ange's room. She clenches her hand into a fist, raising it. She hesitates a moment, before letting her hand fall to her side. She shakes her head, and walks back out to the sofa.

She's an employee. She's only here for a little while. If anything, they've been too free with one another, sharing details of their past that are best hidden away and forgotten.

She slumps into the sofa, and drains her drink. She refills it, and drains it again.

After four glasses, which evaporate like water in the Sahara, she sighs and decides it's pointless to stay awake.

She stops again in front of Ange's door, placing a hand on the doorknob. She almost pushes the door open. Then, she shakes her head and retreats into her own bedroom.

*-*

The next morning, Daisy doesn't see Ange until the other girl has finished her shower. She comes out of her room wearing a black and grey dress. It's new, one that she purchased with her second paycheck.

"You look good," Daisy observes casually.

"Thank you," Ange replies in an even tone.

They spend the morning going through their routine, saying no more than necessary to one another to get things ready.

Just before time to open, Daisy walks into the kitchen, where Ange is kneading bread dough.

"Talk to me," she says.

Ange continues working on the dough. "About what?"

"Something's wrong. You're not yourself."

"Nothing is wrong. I've been tired. I believe that I desire to reduce my intake of alcohol."

"That so?"

"Yes."

Daisy stares at her for another moment. "Alright. It's your life. Just don't go out there with a frown. Customers have to see you happy and pretty."

"I know that," Ange snaps. Her fingers work the dough roughly, longer than is strictly necessary.

Daisy sighs, and leaves the kitchen. She senses there's more to this, but what can she do? At the end of the day, Ange is an employee. A temporary employee, at that.

*-*

A week passes. Ange focuses on her job. She serves tea and coffee. She bakes bread. She smiles politely, says the right things, and when necessary puts on fake charm. Her demeanor pays off, as even Lily and her two friends begin to smile at her. They leave her a tip one day, which genuinely makes Ange smile.

"It's," Lily says with brightening cheeks. "It isn't much. Just a little something."

"I appreciate it," Ange answers.

"And," Lily clears her throat, and glances at her friends, who are blushing. "Well, we appreciate it too. We ... appreciate you."

As the teatime crowd thins out and Ange is wiping down the tables, Daisy comes out to the cafe.

"Nice work today."

Ange looks up at her in surprise. "Thank you."

"I mean it. You got those three ice queens to come around. I half-expected you'd come to blows, but instead here you are, with them eating out of the palm of your hand."

Ange's cheeks turn pink, and she focuses on her cleaning. "It's my job."

"Yeah." Daisy sits behind the counter, and glances through the book Ange has been reading. " _Tono-_ _B_ _ungay_? Been meaning to read it. Any good?"

"It's interesting," Ange says in a disinterested tone.

"Okay listen," Daisy snaps. "Ange, this is getting absurd."

"What?"

"You aren't yourself. You've been morose, sulking, haven't said two words to me all week, not outside of what you've had to say."

"I suppose that's right."

Daisy sighs, and stands up. "I don't know what else to say. You want to move?"

Ange stands straight up, and turns an ugly glare on Daisy. "You want me to?"

Daisy looks down at Ange's book. She shakes her head slowly. "No."

"Then why mention it?"

Daisy looks up at her. "I don't know, I just get the feeling you're not happy."

Ange's glare melts, and she shrugs. "I've been tired."

" _Tired_ being another word for depressed?"

Ange's eyes close, and she wrings the cloth in her hands.

"I am right," Daisy says in a quiet voice.

"I am not depressed," Ange says, turning back to cleaning the table.

"Right. Look, finish up there. If no one else comes in by a quarter past, I'm closing up early."

"Oh. Alright."

No one else comes in, so Daisy locks up and shuts down the oven. Ange sweeps and mops, shutting down the espresso machine and turning off the lights. When she goes to the back room, Daisy is sitting at the wooden table. She looks up at her.

"You aren't happy here. Don't give me any crap either. What happened? Did a customer do anything?"

"No. Yes. I mean, I was invited to go out on what amounted to a date."

"With a customer?"

"I declined."

"I see."

Ange shrugs, and tosses her apron into the laundry basket. "I would have in any case."

"Sure."

Ange sits down opposite Daisy. "I don't want to just drink."

"It helps though."

Ange nods slowly. "It does. I just feel that I need more."

"Like what? If you had a boyfriend it'd be easy. I'd be worried about you spending too much time with him."

"And I don't want a boyfriend."

"Not too many options left. The world's really not built around single girls. Everything for us is designed to make us not single."

Ange sighs. "I don't want any of that."

"Because of that girl."

"Yes."

"Well, we need to figure something out. It risks hurting your job."

"I know."

Daisy sighs. "Let's go out and get supper. A nice hot meal should help."

*-*

It does, a little. Daisy doesn't have much to spend, and Ange doesn't have much of an appetite, but it is different.

When they get home, Daisy sits on the sofa, and pats the seat beside her. Ange looks at her uncertainly.

"No booze. Not unless you really want some."

Ange nods, and sits. "Alright."

"You want more than this."

"Of course. I just don't know what. And, I do not want to move, nor do I want you to believe that I dislike you."

"You need friends."

"When I was at the orphanage, I had many companions. We slept and bathed and ate together. At Stanford Hill, we also learned together. Remember, for three years I worked part of the day, studied for part of it, but then returned to the common room of the orphanage."

"Right. Never alone, you mean."

"More or less. Now, suddenly, for an entire month my life revolves around this café. By day we work there. In the evenings, we drink together. I've had a handful of days of rest in that time. I spend those days taking my paycheck to the bank, buying clothing suitable to be worn under my apron ... so even my free time is about this café."

"Welcome to my life."

Ange sighs. "You are right. I'm sorry."

"Not upset. Well, I am upset that you decided to go quiet on me. I want us to be friends."

"Friends. I don't object to that," Ange says, with a thin smile.

"Right. Now, you need more friends."

"Where do I find them?"

"Hm. I wonder."

*-*

It's past teatime, and the café has grown quiet. Ange is reading her book. It doesn't quite make her feel better. The novel's protagonist has just had a rather messy divorce from his wife. Ange isn't anything close to an expert on relationships, but somehow what the novel describes feels more authentic, more realistic, than the schlock boy-meets-girl, wins-girl, happy-ever-after that is typical for fictional relationships.

With her recent "romances" with Eric and several flirty workmen, she wonders if she'll ever find Charlotte again. Or if she can let herself fall in love with anyone else if she doesn't.

The jangling of the bell above the door interrupts her thoughts. She looks up, eager to have work to hold her focus.

"Good afternoon. Oh. Hello, Marilla."

The laundress is all smiles. She is alone, which is unusual. So is the time, as this isn't when she, or any other laborer or laundress, generally comes in. "Hello, Ange. The laundry mill's closed early."

"Is that so?"

Marilla sits down at a stool, across from Ange. "So, I seem to have some free time. Some luxury, huh?"

Ange smiles wistfully. "It is. Well, would you like something?"

"Didn't come here to order. Came to see if you, by chance, were free."

"Oh. Well, I don't .…"

"She is," Daisy says, entering the café from the back room.

Ange looks up at her with surprise.

"Go on, have some fun. I got this covered. Might even close up early today. Not exactly crowded."

"That is true," Ange says slowly.

"So? What d'you say?" Marilla says, leaning forward eagerly.

Ange grins. "Alright. I'll be right out."

She hurries into the back room to discard her apron. When she returns, Daisy is sitting across from Marilla, grinning.

"Ready?" Marilla asks.

"Sure."

They head out.

"Have fun!" Daisy calls out.

*-*

"So," Ange begins. It's chilly. Her breath forms a thin wispy cloud that floats up into the darkening sky. "What shall we do?"

"I've plans already," Marilla says.

"Plans? You knew the mill was closing early?"

"It was announced a few days ago. How does a light supper sound?`"

"Nice."

"Good. Then, we're going to an electric theater."

"Oh?! A moving picture show?"

"Mm hm. Something a little different."

Ange nods, then frowns. "Wait. Daisy put you up to this, didn't she?"

Marilla grins widely. "While that is true, she didn't have to apply much pressure."

Ange hums.

*-*

They eat a hot meal at a café that Ange can't help judging critically. It's decent food, the waitresses are nice and efficient, but it lacks something. Spirit, maybe?

Afterward, they walk a few more blocks, to a gleaming white tiled building, proudly declaring itself "The Electrotheatre."

Ange and Marilla queue up at the front door, and when it opens they are swept inside along with the happily chattering crowd.

"Exciting," Ange says with a grin.

"Isn't it?"

When they reach the box office, Marilla pays for two of the nicer seats, toward the back of the auditorium.

It's a large space, with a gently arching ceiling and false plaster pillars on the walls. A curtain covers the screen below. Piano music, light and airy, is being played from somewhere beside the screen, though the piano isn't visible.

Ange is smiling widely, and trots eagerly to their seats, her hands clasped behind her back. Marilla grins, and when Ange turns to look at her, can't help but laugh.

"You've never been?"

"Well, I've seen moving pictures of course, though always in small converted stores, with a projector and a tarp hung up on the back wall for the picture."

"Of course."

"But a place like this? Built _just_ to show moving pictures? Never. And isn't it something?"

"Right," Marilla giggles.

Ange clears her throat, and makes a sweeping gesture. "After you milady."

Marilla rolls her eyes, but takes her seat. Ange plops down a moment later, ignoring a few laughs at her expense from other people.

After another few moments, the lights dim in the auditorium, the curtain opens, and the screen begins to flicker to life.

The piano music changes to something strident and vaguely patriotic.

A title card appears: _The New Airship, HMS King George III,_ _Prepares_ _to Enter Service._

The scene changes to a shot of the airship moored to a mobile platform, in turn hooked to a large tractor with caterpillar tracks. The tractor tows the airship up to a platform.

_Members of the Royal Family Arrive to Dedicate and Christen the Vessel!_

The picture shows the Crown Prince and his wife walking arm in arm along tarmac, followed immediately by one of the younger princes, and a girl.

Ange's eyes widen. Her mouth gapes open just slightly. Her hand clutches at what she thinks is the armrest of her chair. Only to realize a heartbeat later it's Marilla's arm. She hurriedly moves her hand, and out of the corner of her eye sees a look of surprise cross Marilla's face.

For now, she focuses on the girl on the screen. Woman. Young woman.

Its been nearly a decade, and the image is in shades of grey and not color, but Ange would never fail to recognize her.

_Charlotte_.

Her hair is short, well-trimmed, and in an asymmetrical style that Ange finds instantly endearing: the left side is nearly shoulder length, the right side arranged into a tight braid, secured by a black ribbon. _Dark_ ribbon. It might have been black, blue, purple ... her mind supplies the soft peach of Charlotte's skin, the rosy blush of her cheeks, the deep, aqua blue of her eyes, and lustrous, golden blonde of her hair.

Marilla leans closer to her. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

_Young Princess Charlotte Given the Honours!_

Ange's cheeks flush red. "Perhaps I have," she whispers.

Charlotte is on the platform beside the airship. a champagne bottle sits on a table beside her. The Princess is shown speaking for a half minute, before her image is replaced with a title card giving the text of her speech.

Several members of the audience hiss or boo at this.

"We wanna moving picture not newsprint!" someone shouts.

Many of the other members of the audience laugh in response.

The title card eventually goes away, and Charlotte is shown picking the bottle up by the neck, and swinging it against the hull of the ship. The glass shatters, spraying champagne across the airship.

The image cuts to a wide shot of a crowd gathered by the tarmac: soldiers, airmen, men in bowler hats and women in nice dresses. They are applauding.

_Princess Charlotte the Guest of Honour on George IIIs Maiden Flight._

The Princess turns to the camera, a thin smile on her lips, and she waves.

Ange's heart stops for a brief moment, as it feels to her as though Charlotte is looking at her. Waving at her. She wants to cry out to her, to beg her not to go.

She doesn't. If she had, the people around her would just laugh.

A portal opens on the side of the airship, and a man in a uniform salutes her, then reaches a hand out to her, which she accepts, elegantly placing her hand in his. He helps her board the airship.

Ange scowls. _It isn't as_ _though Charlotte needed his help_ _,_ she thinks.

"You going to be alright?"

Ange sighs, and finally turns to Marilla. "Sorry. She is simply so very pretty."

"Princess Charlotte?" Marilla sounds surprised. "Didn't imagine you as a fan of the royals."

"I'm not," Ange hastily says, "Just ... her."

"Oh." Marilla turns back to the screen. Her eyes widen, and she glances back at Ange in surprise, but Ange has already turned her focus back to the image of the airship.

_With Cavorite_ _Engines_ _Engaged, and_ _Propellers_ _at Full_ _Power_ _, the KGIII Soars Into the Air!_

There is a last shot of the airship flying off in the distance, before a title card comes up, proclaiming _The End_.

There is applause around the theatre, but Marilla grumbles.

Ange looks at her, tilting her head. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah," she says. "Our government can spend millions of pounds building bigger, faster, fancier airships to better blow up people they don't like, and in the meantime children starve in the streets of London."

"I know."

"They're forced to beg, or steal, or even sell their bodies just to buy a crust of bread that barely sustains them."

"I know," Ange repeats.

Marilla sighs. "Sorry. It just burns me."

"It burns me as well."

The next moving picture has started, and Ange turns her attention to the screen.

The title card, tinted red with white lettering, announces "The Flame."

The image shifts to half a dozen young women in somewhat skimpy outfits, walking out onto a stage carrying a very large prop that resembles a matchstick.

They are laughing and chatting with each other, before all turn at once to the camera with smiles. They then turn their focus to the match, which they shift so the tip is against the ground. With a few silent laughs, they then trot backwards, moving the match against the floor.

There is a billow of smoke, through which is just barely seen a flash of brilliant, vibrant red.

As the smoke clears, the image of a woman is revealed. She's wearing a long, flowing robe, which flutters with her slow, sinuous movements. The robe glows red, yellow, even flashes of blue. The effect of the shifting, colorful robe is precisely like that of fire.

"Beautiful," Ange whispers, eyes wide. Spellbound.

"The dance or the girl?"

"Yes," Ange answers with a grin.

Marilla laughs.

"The colors are so vivid. So lifelike. How did they manage that?"

Marilla leans in just a bit closer to her. "Hand-painted."

Ange turns to her in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah. They make hundreds of little films like this. Used to have them in machines in penny arcades, where you get a little private show. Some of them were," Marilla coughs, "not appropriate for children, if you take my meaning."

Ange's cheeks turn pink, but she turns her focus to the screen. "I believe that I do, yes."

"Surprised you've never seen one like this."

"Well," Ange says, "when I've been to moving pictures, it's been at times when children have been in attendance."

"There are children here now."

Ange shrugs, and says nothing else.

The dancer's movements slow, and she crouches down, bowing her head. The colors soften, and as her robe stops its fluttering, the colors fade entirely.

_The End._

The lights come up just a little bit, and a woman walks out onto the stage. She sings a medley of popular songs, accompanied by the piano.

"Must be getting the main show ready," Marilla says.

"Hm. I wonder what it is."

"I think the program said 'Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde.' "

Ange grins, and turns to her with wide eyes. "Oh, a horror show? How exciting!"

Marilla grins. "Just don't get too scared."

"I won't," Ange says with a widening smile.

The woman finishes her song, and curtseys as the audience applauds politely. She leaves the stage, and the lights dim again.

The screen flickers and the image of a heavy, theatrical curtain appears. it draws open, revealing the scene of what looks like a makeshift laboratory. A tall man with light hair, perhaps intended to be grey, mixes liquids and powders in beakers, looking at them, and nodding with satisfaction. He then pours the contents of one beaker into a glass.

He hesitates. A brief look of fear crosses his face, before he takes a deep breath, glances to heaven, and downs the contents in one gulp.

Dramatically, he clutches at his chest, staggering backward and falling into a chair.

There is a shriek of a young girl from the cheap seats at the very front of the auditorium, followed by laughter of several boys.

"You blockhead!" a girl shouts.

The audience laughs. It somewhat breaks the mood of what should be a dramatic scene.

On the screen, white-haired Dr Jekyll slumps forward. After a brief stillness, he changes instantly into a shorter, dark-haired man. He looks up with wide eyes, and a triumphant, lewd grin. He stands, clawing at the air and bellowing, silently, with his success, and with the liberating feeling of unalloyed, unfiltered evil.

Ange leans closer to Marilla. "It's not quite how I imagined it."

"It's quite impressive though, how they made Jekyll turn into Hyde like that. They didn't even move the camera away."

"I suppose," Ange mutters.

The scene cuts to Dr Jekyll walking with a young woman in a garden. He leans in close to her as though to kiss her, his wide-brimmed hat conveniently covering their faces to conceal the kiss.

This draws a few hisses from the front of the auditorium, and a few chuckles.

They stroll through the garden, and are met by an elderly priest. Jekyll removes his hat, places one hand on his heart, and makes an impassioned speech to the man, while holding the woman's hand tightly.

The priest nods assertion, and he and Jekyll shake hands, while the woman's expression turns joyful.

"I suppose they're engaged now?" Ange mutters.

"So terribly romantic," Marilla answers sarcastically.

A title card proclaims that Jekyll continues to experiment. And more horrifically, changes without the drug!

A peaceful scene of Jekyll reading a newspaper is shattered, as he clutches at his chest. Hurriedly, he pulls himself out of his chair, retreating into his lab.

The scene changes to that of his lab, where Hyde enters. He moves over to his chemicals, reaches for the formula to restore himself to Jekyll, then stops. A wide and evil leer crosses his face, and he instead rushes out of the house.

The dastardliness of Hyde is shown as he callously knocks over a young girl, who cries, and is helped to her feet by a man in a suit and top-hat.

This draws more than a few laughs and jeers from the audience.

Hyde is shown later entering the lab again, drinking the formula, and returning to the form of Jekyll.

"Well," Ange says, "they've softened it up."

"Sure, they can't very well show Hyde rending the girl to pieces."

Ange grins at this. "They could, they chose not to."

"You'd rather they show it?"

Ange shrugs, and turns her attention back to the film.

Jekyll and his young fiancée are shown walking in the garden. She takes a seat on a bench, and he starts to sit beside her. Then, he clutches at his chest.

Ange can't quite keep from laughing.

Marilla glances at her in surprise.

Ange turns to her with a smirk. "Oh come on! How could anyone be surprised at this?"

"Well. I suppose it isn't very shocking," Marilla admits.

Jekyll staggers away, to the girl's confusion. He is next shown as Hyde, standing in front of what must be the church the priest holds services in. Hyde gestures wildly at the church, apparently speaking blasphemies. He then turns dramatically to the camera, his eyes widening and a lewd grin crossing his face.

The scene cuts to the girl, who turns with surprise as Hyde appears. She screams as he attacks her. The priest, apparently her father, appears, and struggles with Hyde, as the woman runs off.

She meets a policeman who follows her to the garden. The priest is lying in front of the bench, dead.

"I think I prefer the novel," Ange mutters.

"Well," Marilla says, "Remember, they have to make certain concessions. They don't have much time, so they have to decide what's important to show. Jekyll becoming Hyde, being a monster, murdering the vicar."

"There's no vicar in the novel though, nor a vicar's daughter. The entire romance is cut from whole cloth!"

On screen, Hyde is shown in the lab, picking up an empty flask. He tosses it to the floor and turns, frantically looking around his lab. All the containers of fluids and powders are empty.

"Sure," Marilla says. "This is based on the play."

"It's an inferior work. They ought to have followed the novel more closely," Ange grumbles.

On the screen, a policeman is chopping at the laboratory door with an axe. In the lab, Hyde is looking at the door with horror. Trapped as Hyde, cornered by the Law for his crime, he resorts to drinking from a bottle with an ominous label including a skull and crossbones.

He collapses to the floor, and as the door is broken open, the policeman, Jekyll's young fiancée, and several men enter. The policeman leans over Hyde's body. It's made clear that Hyde, and Jekyll, are both dead.

The theatrical curtain closes, and the screen grows black.

_The End,_ proclaims a title card.

The lights start to come back up, and the curtain closes over the screen. The audience applauds, with many people starting to stand, and make their way out. The piano is playing a high tempo popular song, and the general atmosphere is of satisfied excitement.

Ange starts to rise, but Marilla places a hand on her forearm. She leans in close to the younger girl. "Wait a moment. Give people a chance to thin out. Besides, I kinda like this song."

Ange smiles. "Alright."

It helps that there are doors down closer to the screen. Ange sees the people that had been in the cheap seats filing out, including a red-faced girl not much older than ten, clinging to the arm of a boy about the same age. She wears a sheepish grin, and he is chattering and laughing.

"Ah, to be a kid again," Marilla sighs.

"I'd rather not."

Marilla glances at her. "Not a happy childhood?"

"Not so much."

"Well," Marilla says, "we can head out now."

*-*

It's a clear, starry night. Ange's breath drifts up into the sky in heavy puffs. She shrugs into her coat, shoving her hands into her pockets.

"What a fun way to spend an evening," Marilla muses, smiling.

Ange looks at her with a wide, fond smile. "It was nice. Thank you for inviting me."

"Not a problem."

"It's a shame to end it."

Marilla glances up to the sky for a moment, then turns to Ange. "Doesn't have to end."

Ange's cheeks turn pink, and she glances away. "Oh?"

"I've got some brown ale sitting collecting dust in my cupboard. Fancy a drink?"

Ange turns back to her, and a thin smile crosses her lips. "Actually, that does sound nice."

Marilla's smile widened. "It's not far from here. I'd offer you a meal too, but I think I've got nothing fancier than tinned sausages."

Ange laughs. "That sounds quite nice, actually."

"Ale and sausages, then."

"And company," Ange says seriously. "Most important of all."

"Yeah," Marilla nods.

*-*

Marilla has a room in a boarding-house. It's just that, with a bed, small sofa, wooden table with four chairs, and a small, countertop cooking-stove. She doesn't have an icebox, so all of her food is in tins, and the ale is room temperature.

Ange notes, with a frown, that there isn't a private bathroom. Also, Marilla's kitchen sink has only one knob.

"I have hot and cold running water," Marilla jokes. "Hot in summer, cold in winter."

Ange begins to wonder if she's become spoiled living with Daisy.

Marilla places two glasses on the table, and Ange sits down in a chair. She watches as Marilla grabs two bottles of brown ale. She places both on the table, and pries off the metal caps with a bottle opener.

"Help yourself," Marilla says casually. Ange grabs one bottle and pours the ale into her glass, while Marilla grabs a tin. She grabs a tin opener from her drawer, sits, and opens it. She takes a sausage, then places the tin in the center of the table.

"Swanky," Ange quips.

Marilla frowns. "Find me a job making more than ten shillings a week and I'll get you swanky."

Ange giggles, grabbing a sausage.

They eat and drink in silence for a few minutes. Ange sets her glass down, empty.

"Want another?" Marilla asks.

"Alright."

As Marilla stands to get another two bottles, Ange clears her throat. "So, may I ask you something?"

Marilla pries open the bottles, handing one to Ange. "Hm?"

"You've taken me to supper, and to a moving picture show. Now, you've invited me to your flat."

"Yes?"

"I'm just wondering what you are ... expecting."

Marilla sits, and pours her ale into her glass. "Interesting question. Why d'you ask?"

"This feels like, pardon me for saying so ... a date."

Marilla blinks, and takes a long sip of her ale. "Well," she says finally. "That isn't entirely a false assumption."

Ange, cheeks reddening, looks at her glass of ale.

"Mind," Marilla says, "I'm not necessarily looking for someone."

"You aren't?"

"Daisy said you needed time away from the café. She hinted that you might perhaps be inclined towards female companionship."

Ange's blush deepens. "Oh."

Marilla sighs. "Look, there's no pressure, alright? I had fun tonight."

"As did I."

"But, I don't expect anything more from you. We're friends."

"Oh. Just friends?"

Marilla leans forward, gently placing her hand over Ange's. "Don't say it like that. Look, you are pretty."

Ange shrugs.

"I do mean it. If my economy was better ... I mean, in a few years maybe."

Ange looks up at her in surprise. "You ... like girls?"

"Yeah," Marilla says.

"Oh. I mean ... so this rather is a date?"

Marilla grins. "Yes."

"But ... I mean, where does that leave us then?"

Marilla gently squeezes Ange's hand. "Friends. Alright? I mean, look at this place."

Ange smiles. "Well. It isn't very conducive to a relationship."

"Not especially. No, I intend to work until I've enough saved up to quit the laundry mill, then set up a home with a nice girl."

"I see. Have you ... um. I mean, is there anyone you fancy?"

Marilla pulls her hand away from Ange's. "There is not."

"Oh." Ange blinks, and isn't quite certain how to process this.

"Now what I don't understand," Marilla says with a frown, "is how Daisy knew all this."

"I can't imagine."

"I've never told her anything. Never dropped any hints, so far as I know."

"She is bound and determined to see me coupled," Ange sighs. "She may be firing blind, hoping to hit the target."

Marilla laughs. "Well, she's not far off this time at any rate."

Ange smiles. "I suppose not."

"I'm honored, in a way."

"Oh?"

"If she sees me as a suitable match for you, I mean."

Ange nods, slowly.

*-*

Some time later, Ange's eyes open. She's in Marilla's room. It's dark, and she can just barely make out the wooden table, and the empty tin and bottles and glasses.

She's in Marilla's bed, still wearing last night's dress. She is alone.

She sits up slowly, yawning, and notices Marilla on her sofa. She's on her side, a thin blanket over her. She's also wearing her clothes from last night.

Ange smiles, stands, and quietly walks over to the sofa. She leans down, and before she can say or do anything, Marilla's eyes open.

"Morning," she slurs.

"Good morning," Ange answers with a smile.

Marilla sits up, and Ange settles in beside her on the sofa.

"So," Ange says. "I did have a very nice evening."

"Me too."

Ange nods. "So then, we must do this again some time."

"I'd like that. Though, I'll find something tastier than tinned sausages to serve you."

Ange giggles. "It's fine. You needn't go to any trouble."

"It isn't any."

They sit there, side by side for a moment, before Ange turns to look at a clock sitting on the counter beside the cooking stove. It's too dark to read.

"Probably about time to go in to work," Marilla answers the unasked question.

"Yes," Ange nods. There's a hint of disappointment in her voice.

Marilla sighs. "Listen, I did mean what I said last night. I would be honored to be your ... I mean, you are a very nice, sweet girl. I'm just not ready for anything."

"Nor am I," Ange answers evenly.

Marilla looks at her for another moment. "Well. I'd like to do this again. Supper, moving pictures, maybe other things. Just ... no commitments."

"No commitments. No labels."

"Right?"

"Right."

Marilla smiles. "Alright then. So are Sundays good days for you?"

"They are. You're off?"

"It's the one day I've got free. I can probably make time weekday evenings, now and then."

"As can I."

"I suppose it's settled then."

"Yes," Ange says.


	6. Chapter 6

Daisy sits on the edge of the bed. The room is dark and still in the pre-dawn hours of the day. It's not hers, though it's not strange to her.

She feels a heavy, calloused hand brush her lower back. "Morning," the man says, voice hoarse.

"Morning."

His hand slowly trails up her back. When Daisy doesn't react, the man sighs and sits up, wrapping both arms around her waist. "What's wrong? You've been distant all night."

Daisy closes her eyes and leans back against him. "Thinking. Worried about my waitress."

"How so?"

"Set her up on a date last night."

"That why we came back here, not to your place?"

"Hm. Just been thinking. It might've been a mistake."

He chuckles and gives her an affectionate squeeze. "Matchmaking often is, dearest."

"Unless it works," Daisy says, defensive.

"I guess. Set her up with a decent bloke though, yeah?"

Daisy sighs, and now regrets saying anything. "Something like that."

"So, no harm. If it works it works, if it don't it don't."

"Well," Daisy pulls out of his grasp, standing and collecting her clothes from the floor. "Likely true. Time to get going anyway."

The man sighs, again. "You know, if I didn't know you well enough to know when you're lying to me, I'd swear this was about me. Something I said, did, didn't say or do."

Daisy ignores the irony. "It's not."

"Because I know I ain't your only. You'd say straight up if another bloke's on your mind."

"Right." Daisy is tugging on her bloomers.

The man shakes his head, and starts getting dressed as well. "So it's just about your girl. Angel, right?"

"Ange."

The man nods, with a smile. "Pretty as an angel anyway. I'd date her if she'd have me."

Daisy is dressed, and sits back down. "She wouldn't."

"Fancy tastes?" He leans in to claim a quick kiss before Daisy answers.

"Something like that."

*-*

The early morning air is cold. Daisy's breath wisps up into the air. Her hands are shoved into the pockets of her coat. The man walks alongside her, a cabbie-cap on his head. His hands are in his trouser pockets.

"I'm late," Daisy mutters.

"And? You and me's lingered past noon a time or two, days I've got free."

"Ange's never opened alone. I mean, completely alone."

The man glances up at the sky. If he's looking for answers there he doesn't find them.

"Your gal's a regular adult, yeah?"

"Sure."

"Then she doesn't need you playing mother hen over her."

Daisy chuckles. "Never been accused of being a mother anything."

"I have, don't recommend it." the man says with a wry grin.

Daisy rolls her eyes, but laughs.

"I just worry," she sighs.

"Too much. I'd swear she was your daughter the way you're going about."

Daisy scowls at him. "Do not even joke like that."

He shrugs. "She's an adult. Let her be one. Besides, she just works for you."

"It's different though. She was homeless. No money. Nothing. I didn't just give her a job, I gave her a roof to sleep under, and someone to talk to. I'd like to say I gave her hope, but I might be giving myself too much credit."

"Huh."

"What?"

The man strolls in silence for a moment. "Just the way you're going on. If it were a bloke, I'd say you were smitten."

Daisy freezes. The man stops and turns to look at her. "What?"

"Nothing." She starts walking again, faster.

He walks too, but at a slower pace. He doesn't press the matter further.

*-*

When they reach the café, it's brightly lit. Through the window, they see the old couple sitting at their table, sipping their hot drinks and eating slices of bread.

Daisy smiles.

"See?" the man says with a smug grin. "Ain't burnt down, yeah?"

Daisy opens the door and gestures the man in. He laughs, and gives her a shallow bow, before entering the café.

The old man glances up at him uncertainly, and the woman gives him a friendly smile. He nods at them.

"Good morning, and ... oh, hello Daisy." Ange is standing behind the counter, smiling widely. She's wearing her apron, her hair pulled back into a tight bun.

"Morning, kid. Everything going alright?"

"Splendid," Ange says with a widening smile. "Can I get you anything?"

Daisy walks around to the rear of the counter, gesturing at the man with her thumb. "He might want something."

The man sits, as Daisy goes into the back room. She hastily pulls her hair back and ties an apron around herself. When she looks back in, Ange is making an espresso.

"I have things covered," Ange says matter-of-fact. She places the mug of coffee in front of the man. "If you need to freshen up?"

"I'm good," Daisy says.

"She is at that," the man grins.

Ange shakes her head, and cleans the espresso machine. The man stands to one side of the counter, drinking his coffee.

The morning rush begins, with the old couple leaving just as the first of the workmen begin to arrive.

Daisy notices one of the men is unusually subdued. He usually smiles at, and flirts with, Ange. Today he orders his coffee and goes to a table to drink it, without saying more to her than is necessary. Daisy doesn't question either him or Ange.

*-*

When things slow down, Daisy drapes her arm across Ange's shoulder, and leans in close. "So? How'd it go?"

Ange smiles. "Very well, in fact. We went to see a moving picture show."

"Oh, nice. Well, actually a bit dull if you ask me."

"It was quite fascinating."

"Uh huh. And the company?"

Ange sighs. "Daisy, you really are trying to couple me with someone, aren't you? Were you aware Marilla likes women?"

Daisy's smile turns into a mischievous grin. "Oh, lucky day!"

Ange rolls her eyes, and pulls away from Daisy, who laughs.

"You did? She didn't believe that you could have known."

"I do now."

"So it was a guess?"

"An informed guess. I talk to her now and then, when she picks up or delivers laundry. Never talks about guys, but she did mention wanting to retire and settle down once she got the money. That, and when I casually mentioned one night that you needed to get out, she seemed ... interested."

"I see. Well, we have decided that neither of us is ready for any sort of serious relationship."

"So, just a casual thing?"

"Daisy, no. Not the way you mean it."

"But you are gonna go out again?"

"Well ... yes. As friends."

"Uh huh."

"As friends," she repeats, somewhat sharply. "She would like for all of us to go out Sunday next, in fact."

"I see. All of us meaning you, me, Mary Jane, Rita, the twins?"

"The twins' parents will not permit them to stay out so late, but Rita and Mary Jane have both expressed interest."

"Alright. Well, I don't mind you taking off whenever they come by, but I'll pass."

"Daisy, you also need more than alcohol and a boyfriend of the week."

"I'm fine, really."

Ange sighs. "Well, we can't force you, I suppose."

*-*

After the Sunday morning rush, Marilla, Rita, and Mary Jane show up at the café. Ange is visibly happy, practically bouncing out of the room when Daisy tells her to take off. The four leave. The silence quickly becomes unbearable.

Daisy sighs, and sits. She glances at the clock, then idly pulls Ange's book from the shelf under the counter, where she's been keeping it. There's a bookmark nearly at the end.

Daisy opens the novel, and she reads the first sentence: "Most people in this world seem to live “in character”; they have a beginning, a middle and an end, and the three are congruous one with another and true to the rules of their type." _#_

She rereads the sentence, frowning. Then she closes the book and looks at the cover. "Huh. Here I thought this guy just wrote about martians."

*-*

Predictably, the day is slow, so Daisy closes early. She heads up to the flat to freshen up, then heads out to a nearby pub that's open this time of day on a Sunday.

It's quiet there too, and she only has a few ales, before leaving to walk around the nearby park, and then window shop. Many stores are already closed, and the ones that are open, while tempting, are beyond her current budget.

She returns to the flat, has a few glasses of whisky, then goes to bed early.

She can't sleep, though. When she closes her eyes, she sees Ange. When she sits up in bed, she wonders how she's doing. If she's having fun. If she's bonding with Marilla.

A funny feeling runs through her gut when she thinks about that. She gets up and pads out to the living room, to pour another glass of whisky.

She finds herself waking up sometime later, when the door to the flat opens. She sits up slowly, and with blurry vision, sees Ange closing and locking the door.

"You're up."

"Yeah," Daisy slurs. She blinks, and glances on the coffee table. An empty glass sits there, beside an empty bottle of whisky, and a half-full bottle of Bourbon. "Couldn't sleep."

Ange sits down on the couch beside Daisy. "You should have come with us. We had a very enjoyable evening."

"Hm. That's nice."

Ange watches, as Daisy's eyes begin to close. She looks unsteady, and Ange sighs.

"Are you alright?"

"Ah, yeah. Just, couldn't sleep."

"So you decided to become drunk?"

Daisy nods, and grins. "Good plan, huh?"

"Not especially, no."

"Bah. So what'd you three do anyway?"

"We went to another moving picture show. Daisy, they had a moving picture in color! Not painted on, mind. Genuine, true to life color, captured on film! It was amazing."

"Yeah," she mutters, distant. "Sounds like it."

Ange frowns. "You ought to go to bed."

"Not sleepy," Daisy says, barely suppressing a yawn.

"You are lying."

"Am not, I'm sitting upright."

Ange rolls her eyes. "Daisy, please? Go to bed."

"Fine, and here I thought I was the mother hen."

This makes Ange giggle. "You are, in a way."

"Thanks?"

*-*

Another month passes by. Ange has become entirely comfortable in the place, and Daisy starts to wonder how she managed before she got here.

She now handles laundry day, meeting Marilla both in the morning and the evening. Daisy is convinced they're smitten, and the fact that Marilla comes to the café more often than ever reinforces that idea.

In addition to Sundays, Marilla comes by several evenings over the month to invite Ange out after she's done in the café.

It isn't really that often. Each of four Sundays, and five or six weekday evenings. Every other night, Ange is with her in the flat, beside her on the couch, sipping their drink of the evening.

Yet somehow the days Ange isn't there feel so very empty and long.

On Sundays Daisy at least has the time to go to the pub. On two of them, she meets up with one of her "boyfriends", and spends the night with him. On a third Sunday, she meets up with two enthusiastic young men. They split the cost of a hotel room, and spend the evening together. The fourth Sunday is dead-quiet at the pub, so Daisy ends up walking home alone, tipsy, and completes her drunk by draining a bottle of Scotch.

*-*

The old couple sit at their table. The workmen haven't started arriving yet. Ange has finished reading her novel, though she leaves it on the shelf below the counter for Daisy.

Daisy enters the cafe, without her apron and with her hair loose and spilling down her shoulders.

"Heading out for a bit. Bread's baked, and pastries are ready to go out."

"Alright. I'll see you later today then."

"Seeya," Daisy says with a grin. She heads out through the café's front entrance, leaving just as a pair of workmen arrive.

It isn't the first morning rush Ange has handled on her own. It's busy and exhausting, but very satisfying. She earns several handsome tips, including a personal card with an address and a note to come by next Sunday.

When the rush dies down, she sits for a moment, looking at the card with a thin smile. She has no intention of accepting the invitation, but it doesn't especially bother her. A month ago it would've deepened her melancholy. Now she sees it as a sweet gesture. She places the card on the shelf beside her book. She won't throw it out, and it serves to remind her to thank the workman for the offer, even as she explains that she can't accept it.

A little before noon, Daisy returns, entering from the back room. Her hair is pulled up into a bun and she wears an apron. She sits beside Ange and puts an arm over her shoulder. Ange smiles at her.

"You seem happy today."

"Kinda. You're making my life much easier."

Ange's smile widens. "That's why I'm here, I suppose."

"Anyway, I'm gonna close the place up early today."

"Oh. Is there an occasion?"

"You'll see," Daisy says cryptically, before standing up and heading back to the kitchen.

The rest of the day creeps by, with even the noon and teatime rush seeming to move so very slowly.

After the teatime rush clears out, Daisy closes and locks the door, and claps her hands. "Alright, we're closed. Get things cleaned up."

"Yes ma'am!"

She rushes the sweeping and mopping, perhaps a little more than she ought, but her curiosity has the better of her. She turns off the lights and espresso machine, and goes to the back room to discard her apron. Daisy is sitting at the wooden table, grinning.

"I believe you've set a new record."

Ange shrugs. "I've gotten used to the tasks. I can do them in my sleep."

Daisy laughs. "That, my dear, is the secret." She stands up, and gestures to the door.

Ange gives Daisy a silly, sloppy curtsey, and opens the door. Gesturing for Daisy to go on through.

"Age before beauty?" Daisy asks with a smirk.

"Something of the sort," Ange says with a giggle.

When they reach the flat, Ange sees right away that the bottle sitting on the coffee table isn't whisky. It's white wine, and two appropriate glasses.

She smiles, and glances at Daisy, who positively beams. "So, what is the occasion?"

"Get cozy first."

"Oh. Alright."

Ange goes to her room, and changes into her pink pyjama top. It's a little chilly, but she doesn't mind. She meets Daisy in the hallway, and sees that the older girl is also wearing just a green pyjama top.

Ange sits, and Daisy picks up the wine bottle, loosening the cork.

"Daisy, please tell me what this is about."

"It's been precisely three months since you arrived. Well, more or less."

"Sure."

Daisy pours wine into both glasses. She remains standing while she picks up her glass, and gestures towards Ange.

"To my best, finest employee ever. You have made my life so very much easier, and even considering your wages, you've improved our profits."

Ange's cheeks turn pink. "Oh, well ...."

"Therefore," Daisy continues, "I have purchased your contract from the agency."

Ange blinks. "What?"

"As of tomorrow, you are no longer a temporary employee. Instead," a mischievous smirk crosses Daisy's lips. "I own you."

Ange blinks again. Her cheeks heat up, and she swallows. "Daisy?"

"Thus, the occasion. Cheers!"

Ange takes a very deep breath. "I ... I'm not sure what to say." She taps her glass against Daisy's, and sips the wine.

Daisy sits down beside her, and Ange immediately scoots in close, putting an arm around Daisy's waist.

"Thank you."

"Oh," Daisy says matter-of-fact, She puts her arm over Ange's shoulders. "It's nothing. I mean, I can't let you get away, you know?"

Ange sets her glass down, to wrap her other arm around Daisy. She leans in against her, closing her eyes.

Daisy's cheeks redden, and she sets her glass down. She squeezes Ange close to her.

"You falling asleep?" she asks.

"Hm," Ange responds.

"You haven't even had one glass yet, and it's already going to your head," Daisy says teasingly.

"This is comfy," Ange says.

"Yeah," Daisy whispers.

Ange opens one eye, glancing up at Daisy. The older girl grins. "You're very warm, and very soft."

Ange smiles, closes her eye again, and snuggles closer.

"You know," Daisy says, her tone again teasing, "Marilla would be jealous of us right now."

"She would not," Ange says a bit sharply. "We are just friends, no more."

"Uh huh."

Ange sighs, but doesn't move. "We are not in a position for a relationship. Either of us."

"But in a few more years?"

Ange shrugs. "I suppose it isn't impossible. And yet, I still hold out hope for," Ange's voice trails off.

"That girl, huh?"

Ange nods, and Daisy gives her a tight squeeze.

"Hope springs eternal, I guess."

Ange sighs, and pulls back. She picks her glass back up, keeping one arm around Daisy. The older girl likewise keeps one arm over Ange's shoulders.

They drain their wine, and Ange nods when Daisy picks up the bottle and offers to refill her glass.

"You haven't seen this girl in what, a decade?"

"Seen? Yes. She has, in fact, been in two moving pictures. News stories, but still."

"That's not really what I mean."

"I know. Still, seeing her again like that ... it does give me hope."

"Hm. If she's prominent enough to be in the news .…"

Ange frowns. "Yes, I know. How can I, a mere waitress, ever hope to meet her again?"

Daisy sighs. "I mean, it's harsh but it is true. You can dream about being with a celebrity, but at the end of the day ... it probably won't happen."

Ange sips her wine. "I believe I don't want to talk about that any longer."

"Don't blame you. We're supposed to be celebrating after all."

Ange nods. They both drink in silence, and when Ange empties her glass, she again snuggles in close to Daisy's side.

"It really is going to your head, isn't it?"

Ange closes her eyes, and nods. "The wine is surprisingly powerful."

"Yeah, guess so. You want more?"

"Mm hm. In a moment or two."

Daisy smiles, and wraps her arms tightly around Ange, who sighs quietly.

"Very cozy," Ange says.

Daisy closes her eyes, breathing in deeply. Ange has the scent of coffee, pastries, bread and butter and marmalade, and the hint of white wine. Undercutting it all is a natural scent, unmasked by perfume. She doesn't need any, Daisy decides.

"Yeah," she whispers. "Cozy."

*-*

Some time later, Daisy finds herself waking up. Ange's head rests in her lap, her arms wrapped around Daisy's thighs. She opens her eyes, and looks down at the girl with a fond smile. She can't help but run her fingers through Ange's hair.

Ange mutters something, but remains asleep.

Daisy looks at her. She is very pretty. Daisy has always thought so, but it's hitting home now, just how pretty she really is. Her cheeks are just slightly pink, her skin is fair and soft. Her hair is like spun gold, and her eyes remind Daisy of the sky.

She continues gently stroking Ange's hair, even when the girl's eyelids flutter open.

"Morning," Ange mutters.

"Morning, kid."

Ange smiles. "I hope I'm not a bother to you."

"Bother? How could you be."

"I seem to keep falling asleep in your lap. It's dangerously comfortable."

Daisy manages to keep her expression even. "It's not a problem. Honestly? It feels nice."

Ange looks up at her curiously. "Does it?"

Daisy nods. "Yeah."

Ange nods, and closes her eyes again. "Then I shall remain like this."

Daisy laughs quietly, still caressing her hair. "I guess that's fine for now. We've another hour or two before we have to get the day going."

"Hm. I don't suppose we can open late today?"

"Can't afford to. I've got a new burden that I have to take care of."

Ange pouts, and opens her eyes. "I think that I prefer it when you refer to me as your 'best and finest employee.' "

Daisy giggles. "Who said I was talking about you?"

"Have your indiscretions with gentlemen finally come to haunt you?" Ange asks, teasingly.

"Christ, don't even joke like that," Daisy grumbles.

Ange's expression lightens, and she smiles fondly. Her eyes close again, and she sighs.

Daisy doesn't stop running her fingers through Ange's hair. She's come to a conclusion. One that makes her a little bit scared, and quite a bit uncertain. What to do? Perhaps nothing. She is still an employee. The safest course is the best, after all.

*-*

Ange is in the kitchen, and the old couple are, as ever, at their table. They've still got a few bites left on their bread.

The morning rush hasn't started yet, but the door bell rings.

"Good morning," Daisy starts to say. Then she recognizes the woman. She wears a light blue dress today, and a matching narrow-brimmed hat, but her dark hair, pince-nez, and serious expression are easily remembered.

"Oh, hello again. Nice to see you back."

The woman smiles. "Well, I am gratified that you remember me." She nods at the old couple, who are just now standing up. She waits for the man to pay, then when they leave, she walks over to the counter, sitting at a stool.

"So what can I get you?"

"Well, I've more time today. I had intended to return here earlier, to be honest, but the timing didn't allow."

"I see. Well, d'you want siphon coffee? It's better quality than espresso."

"I've not quite that much time," the woman responds, her smile widening. "I shall take an espresso, though I should very much like cream, or at least milk."

"Sure thing. Would you like a doughnut again?" Daisy asks with a grin.

"No, I'd like to try something different."

"Well, take a look at what I have."

"I shall."

She kneels down in front of the display case, and Daisy goes to the kitchen. They have an ice box which allows them to keep several bottles of milk cold and fresh.

Ange looks up as Daisy enters. She smiles. "An order?"

"Just a customer wanting milk with her espresso."

"I see. Warmed?"

"No, just milk."

Ange nods, and continues what she was doing, placing a pan of bread into the oven.

Daisy pours some milk into a small ceramic pitcher, then walks back out.

"I shall have an éclair," the woman announces as Daisy returns.

"Chocolate or maple?"

"Maple, I believe."

Daisy nods. "Good choice. The maple syrup in the icing's fresh from the Colonies. I don't get it very often."

"I see. So you did make the éclair here?"

"Uh huh. Mixed the icing and Bavarian cream too."

"Then make it two, and I shall take the second to work."

"Gotcha," Daisy smiles.

The woman pays, and Daisy makes her espresso, using more flair this time.

When she places the mug of steaming hot coffee in front of her, the woman is smiling, her hand on her cheek.

"I must say, you make it quite an entertaining spectacle."

Daisy smiles widely. "I do aim to please," she says with a wink.

The woman's cheeks turn pink, and she clears her throat.

Daisy, barely keeping from laughing, places one éclair on a plate for her, and a second in a paper bag, lined with wax paper.

"My name is Eleanor," the woman says, as she picks up her éclair.

Daisy sits down opposite her. "Pretty name."

The woman nods, chewing. When she swallows, she says, "this is quite delicious."

"Thanks."

"And of course, thank you for the compliment, though I can hardly take credit."

Daisy shrugs. "Take 'em where you can get 'em, I say."

Eleanor's smile widens. "I quite agree."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Eleanor. I'm Daisy MacBean."

"Oh!" Eleanor looks surprised. "I thought the name of the café was a play on words. Coffee coming from beans, and Mac meaning 'son of' in Gaelic."

Daisy laughs. "Well, I did kinda choose the name for that reason but ... yeah. I'm the Real MacBean."

"Hm. That might also have been a good name for the place."

Daisy nods. "I considered that too."

Eleanor sips her espresso, and nods. "It is better with milk. Now, if only you could steam it."

Daisy shrugs. "Don't expect that any time soon. I'd have to use the stove in the back room, and that'd take a while. Considered your idea of modifying the steam release valve but ... well, I'm no engineer."

"Yes. Yes, I see your point. It could go quite badly."

"Yeah, last thing I want is for the thing to explode when I'm making someone's drink."

"That could be messy."

Daisy laughs, and Eleanor is practically beaming.

Eleanor finishes her éclair, and lingers another few moments, sipping her coffee.

"I simply must come back more often," she muses.

"Please do. This is a good time too, as the morning rush hasn't quite ...."

She is interrupted by the jangling of the bell above the door.

Eleanor grins widely. "Started?"

Daisy nods, standing up, and smiling at the two workmen who have just now entered.

As she prepares espresso for the men, Eleanor stands up. "I must be leaving now."

"Alright. Seeya around."

"Yes, indeed. Good day, gentlemen."

"Ma'am," one says, touching the brim of his flat-cap.

Daisy takes a brief moment to watch as Eleanor walks out the door, clutching the bag in her left hand. She chuckles, then finishes off the espressos.

"Pretty gal," one of the workmen says.

"Yeah," Daisy nods. "Yeah, she is."

"Hope she comes back some time," the other workman says.

"Me too," Daisy muses.

The men chuckle, and move off to the side to drink, while the morning rush begins in earnest.

*-*

Winter begins early. A heavy snowstorm blankets London, transforming the city into a white, glittering wonderland. The café's business is hardly affected. On the one hand, the wintry weather means fewer people are out on the streets. However, those that are become more likely to seek shelter, and a hot drink.

Ange is behind the counter, watching the snow fall outside the window. There are two workmen sitting at one table, drinking espresso and eating slices of bread. When the doorbell jingles, she looks up, and immediately smiles.

"Good morning, Marilla. Good morning, ma'am. How may I help you today?"

The woman, in a heavy blue dress, wide-brimmed hat, and pince-nez glasses, smiles and gestures for Marilla to go ahead.

Marilla sits down at the counter, and a moment later, the other woman sits down beside her.

"Espresso, and if it's warm, bread."

"It is. Loaves have just come from the oven."

"I will have the same then," the other woman says, her expression even.

"Alright. Coming right up. Oh, butter or marmalade?"

"Butter, if you please," the woman says.

"Yes, for me too," Marilla says.

Ange smiles, and goes to the kitchen.

"Two breads with butter."

Daisy nods. She is heating water for tea, to be ready for the morning rush. The water stays warm enough, and it saves a few precious minutes. "Two breads, butter."

"Right."

Ange returns to the cafe, and begins making the espresso. Both Marilla and the woman watch her.

"She's quite good," the woman says, leaning slightly towards Marilla.

"Isn't she?" Marilla agrees.

Ange's cheeks heat up, but she has a wide, pleased smile when she turns to them. "Your espressos, ladies." She adds a wink, and is amused to see Marilla blush lightly. The other woman's smile widens just a fraction.

"You've been taking lessons."

Daisy enters the cafe at that moment with two plates of bread slices, thickly buttered. "Oh, heya Eleanor."

Ange notices the woman, Eleanor, brighten up noticeably as Daisy enters. her smile becomes wider, her cheeks turn pink, and she meets Daisy's gaze.

"Good morning, Daisy."

"Well, first name basis," Ange says with a grin in Marilla's direction.

Daisy sits down across from Eleanor, and grins at Ange. "Jealous?"

"Hardly," Ange says in a light tone.

Eleanor raises a brow in her direction. "I'm not quite certain how to take that."

Ange grins. "Well, Marilla here and I have been on a first name basis for some time."

"Little more than just that," Marilla says, playing it up.

Eleanor looks at her in surprise. "Is that so? I was under the impression that waitresses and customers ought not to, how would one say it? Mingle."

Marilla laughs. "Funny, Daisy never said anything of the sort when she set us up."

"Marilla!" Daisy says, with a laugh.

"My my, what a place I've entered," Eleanor says, shaking her head.

"It's all just some good fun, right gals?" Daisy says.

"Indeed," Ange replies with a nod and smile.

*-*

That evening, Daisy and Ange sit side by side on the sofa, sipping whisky. Its a little chilly, so both girls wear their pyjama bottoms. Ange has her legs curled up on the couch.

"So, what plans do you have for Christmas?"

Ange looks surprised at the question. "Well, I hadn't thought about it. I don't really have any."

"Really?" Daisy looks a little surprised too. "I'd have thought you and Marilla might have plans."

"Oh, I see. She's actually going to visit her family. She does have both Christmas Eve and Day free from the laundry mill, you see."

"I figured she would. So she's going back home?"

"Right."

"And you're not planning anything?"

"Are you?"

"I'd kinda hoped we'd be able to spend that time together, actually."

"Ah. That does make sense. When is the café open though?"

"Well, Christmas Eve's somewhat busy, until about noon. Teatime's quiet, and then no one comes in after that, usually. Evening church services, families having Christmas Dinner that evening, so on."

"Right."

"Then Christmas morning I keep it closed up. No point opening, since no one would come in anyway. Besides, I more than make up for it on Boxing Day. So many people are out and about, and they get hungry and want something hot to drink."

"That does make sense. So we close early Christmas Eve, remain closed Christmas Day, then Boxing Day is a regular day. I understand."

"Good. So now you do have plans for Christmas."

Ange smiles. "I suppose that I do."

*-*

After the lunchtime rush slows on Christmas Eve, Daisy sits beside Ange, and puts an arm over her shoulder. "Have to run an errand."

"Oh. Alright."

"You have things covered here?"

"I have."

Daisy stands, and smiles. "Alright then. See you in a few hours."

As Daisy leaves, Ange wonders what this could be about. Daisy hasn't given any indication that things will be special tonight, though that woud be reasonable given the holiday.

In a way, Ange hopes Daisy has something planned. She won't feel quite as awkward giving Daisy her gift. Which, she reminds herself, they didn't discuss. No word was said of giving or not giving gifts. Last pay day, Ange stopped by a shop that she had grown fond of, and made a small, but she hopes meaningful, purchase.

Daisy returns during Teatime, which is as slow as Daisy had predicted it to be.

After the last customer leaves, a young workman that spent three quarters of an hour sipping a mug of black tea while chatting (or more precisely flirting) with Ange, Daisy closes up shop, and helps Ange clean up.

As soon as they enter the flat, Ange sees why Daisy was absent much of the day. A bottle of wine sits on the coffee table, as do two mugs. A plate of pastries sits beside it.

She smiles, and glances at Daisy. "You've been busy."

"Uh huh. Go and get cozy, and I'll get the wine ready."

"Ready?"

Daisy nods, and grins. "Fancy some mulled wine?"

"Actually, that does sound nice."

She goes into her room, not bothering to close the door. She hears Daisy in the kitchen, and begins to smell the wine and spices. She pads out in her pink pyjama top, and leans against the archway into the kitchen.

Daisy glances back at her with a smile. "I'll be out in just a moment. Gonna change too."

"Alright."

"So what've you got behind your back?" Daisy asks teasingly.

Ange grins. "You'll find out when the time is right."

Daisy smiles.

Ange sits, and places a gift-wrapped box on the coffee table. It's fairly small and flat.

When Daisy comes back out, in a green pyjama top, she's carrying the steaming pot of mulled wine with hot pads. She carefully places the pot down, the pads under them, then trots back to her room.

"Did you forget something?" Ange asks with a grin.

"Not forgot, just not enough hands."

"I see."

"Help yourself, by the way!"

Ange nods, and uses a ladle to fill both mugs with warm, fragrant wine, then takes a gingerbread cut in the shape of a girl, and decorated with red and white icing. She bites off an arm, trying not to think too hard about it.

Daisy comes back in, carrying a box that is very similar to the one Ange has on the table. She sits, and sees that her mug is full. "Thanks."

"Of course. Would you like a biscuit?"

"Gingerbread girl, thanks."

Ange nods and hands her one, with blue rather than red icing.

Daisy sets it down and picks up her mug, Ange doing the same.

"To us, to the café, and to the up-coming New Year. May we be as happy and as successful in it as in the past."

"Cheers!"

They sip their wine and munch on pastries and Christmas biscuits.

Ange sigs and leans against Daisy after she's had half of a second mug of wine.

"Don't tell me this is going to your head."

"It may perhaps be," Ange says with a thin smile.

"Well, best exchange gifts then, while you're sober enough to appreciate it."

Despite Daisy's teasing tone, or perhaps because of it, Ange sits up eagerly, her smile widening. She hands the wrapped box to Daisy, who smiles.

"You know, you needn't have got me anything at all. I wouldn't have been offended."

"I felt that I wanted to, though."

"Thank you."

Daisy tears the paper off, revealing a brown, lidded box. She opens it, re evealing a thin silver chain. A flower charm, with white enameled petals and a yellow center, hangs off of it. Daisy lifts it out.

"It's a daisy," Ange says with a grin. "I thought it fit you."

Daisy laughs. "It does. Thank you." She undoes the clasp, and turns her back to Ange. "Help me?"

"Alright."

Ange leans forward, reaching her hands over Daisy's shoulders to take the ends of the necklace in her fingertips. While Daisy pulls her hair up and out of the way, Ange fastens the clasp behind her neck, then sits back.

Daisy turns, glancing down and gently running a fingertip across the flower.

"It's very pretty," she says.

"It is," Ange agrees with a nod. "I mean, if I may say so."

Daisy looks up at her with a wide smile. "You may. Alright, my turn."

Ange's cheeks redden, and she nods. "Alright."

"No protestations?"

Ange shrugs. "I did get you a gift, so it would seem hollow if I did."

"Sure." Daisy hands her the box. Ange tears the paper off of it, revealing a very similar looking brown, hinged box. She opens it, and her eyes widen in surprise.

Daisy giggles. "So?"

Ange pulls a thin gold necklace out of the box. Three small, sparkling diamonds are fixed to the front. She gasps. "It's ... far too much."

"Nah, it's fine. I thought it looked very pretty, so I believed it should be yours."

Ange looks up at her with a very red face. "It's far, far too much. Here, I got you a childish little painted flower, and you .…"

"It's fine! Really, it is. You don't have enough jewelry or fancy things."

Ange swallows, and nods. She unclasps it, and turns around. "Will you?"

"Of course." She leans forward, pressing lightly against Ange's back, as she fastens the clasp behind her neck.

Ange turns, and is smiling very widely. "How does it look?"

"Lovely," Daisy whispers.

"Thank you."

"You are very welcome. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas."

They sit in silence for a moment, then Daisy blinks and nods. "Well, I've something else too."

"What? You got me something besides this necklace?"

"Well, not exactly _got_. It's more like ... look, you know the café inside and out. You can do anything at all, and have. With the exception of the money side of things."

"Well, I'd not presume to even ask about such things."

"There's no reason for that. No reason at all even for you to be an employee any longer."

Ange looks confused. "I don't follow."

"Ange, I'd like you to be my partner."

"What?"

"Co-owner of the café. It'd hardly change anything, really. Your name would be added to the bank account so you could help out with the finances. I'd add your name to the deed too, of course."

"I've ... I've been here just about four months."

"Yeah, and look how far you've come."

Ange blinks, and looks uncertain.

"Well," Daisy says, "we can't make anything official til after the first of the year anyway. Think on it."

Ange nods.

"There ... um. There is something else."

Ange turns to look at her in surprise. "What else could there be?"

"I ...." Daisy hesitates. Her cheeks turn pink. She swallows, and leans forward.

Ange's head tilts in confusion. Daisy's hand gently caresses her cheek, then slides to the back of her head.

Ange doesn't realize what's happening until she feels Daisy's lips against hers. Her eyes widen in shock. But, she doesn't pull away.

Daisy's lips are very soft. Tender. There's a hint of sugary icing, and mulled wine, and just a faint hit of coffee.

Ange's eyes flutter closed. Her lips part fractionally, and there is a very soft sighing sound. From her, or from Daisy?

The kiss seems to linger for hours. For an eternity. Daisy is very gentle, her lips moving softly against Ange's. Their tongues just barely meet, the tips grazing where their parted lips press together.

And then the kiss breaks.

Ange's heart is thrumming so hard in her chest she's sure it will break out. She gasps, and shivers.

"Um," Daisy whispers. Her forehead remains lightly pressed against Ange's.

Ange's eyes open. Her vision is blurry. She blinks, clearing it slightly.

"Sorry," Daisy says.

"You ... kissed me?"

"I ... I mean, I ought to have said ... I don't know what I was thinking." Daisy swallows. "I mean, I kinda. That is, I ... I don't want us to be just _business_ partners, or just friends."

"I don't know what to say."

"Yeah. I ... um. Listen, this doesn't have anything to do with the other. I mean, if you say no to a ... to a relationship, we can still be business partners. Again, nothing really changes there, right?"

Ange doesn't answer. Doesn't know what to answer.

"So," Daisy continues, "think about it, alright? I mean, we've been together every day for just over three months."

"Only three," Ange says quietly.

"But _every_ day. We've worked together, drunk together, everything. I mean, you clinging to me, and laying your head in my lap .…"

Ange's blush deepens. "Oh."

"It isn't just that. It isn't just how beautiful you are. It _is_ those things, but not just that. You're so sweet, and kind, caring, tender, eager to help and good at everything you do."

Ange shrugs.

"So I want us to be ... I mean, to be .…"

"Together?"

"Yeah."

Ange takes a deep breath. "I don't know what to say. Daisy, I can't possibly give you all of myself."

"I know," Daisy whispers.

"Part of me belongs to ... to Charlotte."

Daisy nods.

"And no matter how long I am away from her, that cannot change."

"I know. But, it's been a decade. How long did you know her?"

"Three months, give or take," Ange says, her voice barely audible.

"So no longer than you've known me?"

Ange shakes her head.

"So? Look, I can accept that. You know how I feel about it, but at the same time ... look, we can cross that bridge when and if she turns up again. Just ... I mean, I'm here, now."

Ange closes her eyes tightly. They're tingling. She shivers. "Daisy," she whispers.

"I'm here," she repeats.

Ange shifts, and for just a moment Daisy is sure she's going to pull away. The gentle press of Ange's lips to hers makes her eyes widen in surprise, but the surprise doesn't last long. Her eyes close, and she focuses on the kiss.

It's very soft, warm, and tender. Like Ange herself. And before Daisy can deepen it, Ange pulls back slightly, breaking the kiss but keeping her forehead pressed against Daisy's.

"So," Daisy says. Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat.

Ange giggles softly. The girls' eyes open. Their gazes meet.

"I guess that's a yes?" Daisy whispers.

"I want to take things slowly," Ange says in a very soft whisper.

"I just want you to be happy," Daisy replies.

Ange smiles, a thin but earnest expression. "I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> # Quote from Tono-Bungay, by H.G. Wells.


	7. Interlude

Queen's Mayfair Campus is beautiful at any time of the year, with its carefully manicured garden, and cobblestone paths, and buildings that range in architectural style from early Georgian to late Victorian. It's at once warm and inviting, and yet serious and scholarly.

And this winter, with the piles of drifting snow and glittering ice in the tree branches it looks splendid.

It's bitterly cold, but two of the academy students don't seem to notice. Both wear the school's uniform coat, which is warm and cozy if not especially aesthetically pleasing. The older and taller girl also wears a white fur hat, white earmuffs, and has her hands in a white fur muff. Strands of grey hair hang down nearly to her shoulder on the right side, and on the left a tight braid, secured with a black ribbon, is just visible under her hat.

The younger, petite girl beside her wears a green scarf wrapped around her neck and lower face several times. Her hands are covered by grey mittens. Her reddish- brown hair is arranged in a distinctive, twin-bun style, and she doesn't wear a hat.

They walk slowly, side by side.

"My last class is over at three, Highness," the petite girl says. "I've already packed, and can leave at any time."

The older girl nods. "Good. The limousine will be here around a quarter past three."

"Do you need assistance with your luggage, Highness?"

"No, Beato. I have packed light. I've had some of my things sent on ahead to the manor."

Beatrice positively beams, wide enough that Princess Charlotte can tell even with her scarf in the way. "Well done, Your Highness!"

A very thin smile crosses Charlotte's lips. "It's not that impressive."

Beatrice simply shrugs.

"Charlotte! Beatrice!" A girl shouts, and trots over toward them. She wears the school uniform coat, earmuffs, and has a fake flower decorating her black hair.

"Good morning, Lily," Charlotte smiles.

"Good morning, Miss Gaveston," Beatrice says as well.

Lily smiles. "I'm glad to see you both before the Holiday."

Charlotte and Beatrice resume their stroll, with Lily walking alongside.

"Is something on your mind?" Charlotte asks.

"Well," Lily says, "I was wondering what were your plans."

"Beato and I are headed to one of my family's country estates. We'll be spending a quiet holiday alone, with only a handful of servants in attendance."

"Oh, I see. I'd assumed you would be spending a traditional Christmas Holiday with Her Majesty the Queen."

Beatrice glances uncertainly at Charlotte, but the Princess' expression is unchanged.

"I am not. In fact, all of us, Princes and Princesses alike, are to our own devices this Holiday. I trust you understand that I am not at liberty to go into the details."

Lily frowns. "I do hope Her Majesty is in good health."

"Yes," Charlotte replies vaguely.

"What plans do you have, Miss Gaveston?"

Lily smiles at Beatrice. "You may address me less formally, Beato. As it happens I am spending a quiet Holiday. I'll have Christmas Dinner with my family, and we will have our customary exchange of gits on Christmas Eve. I had hoped you'd be available on Boxing Day."

"You intend to shop?" There's just a touch of surprise in Charlotte's voice.

"Well, yes. I had hoped you were available as well. You see, there's a splendid little cafe I've discovered in town. I thought it'd be pleasant to go there as well. Make a day of it, as it were."

"That does sound nice," Beatrice says earnestly.

"Sadly, we will not be available this time."

Lily sighs. "Yes. Well, perhaps we can go some other time."

Charlotte nods. "That does sound pleasant."

Lily nods. "I must be off to class. Ill see you after the Holiday!"

"Happy Christmas, Lily."

"Yes, Happy Christmas, Miss Lily!"

Lily shakes her head. "Happy Christmas."

She walks off, and Charlotte sighs. "She is right. its nearly time for our next classes."

"Its only a few more hours, Highness."

"Yes, I know."

"Well, I shall see you then"

*-*

A heavy snow falls out of a dark, overcast sky. Charlotte and Beatrice walk slowly along a path that has mostly been cleared of snow. They pass by the garden, fallow and snowbound. On the other side of the path lies the grandly named Royal Forest. It once was a hunting reserve for the Royal Family, though now it exists more as a memorial, a reminder of a grander past.

"Thank you for allowing me to come with you, Your Highness," Beatrice says. Her breath comes out in thick, foglike wisps.

Charlotte smiles, and glances at her friend. "You are entirely welcome, Beato. It is pleasant to share your company, in a situation not demanding daily studies."

Beatrice smiles back, and nods. "It is also nice to see you relaxing, for a change."

Charlotte doesn't immediately answer. Instead, she stops and looks up into the sky. "You know, Beato. If you look up into a snowstorm at night, it feels as though you are flying."

Beatrice looks at her curiously.

"Flying, through a field of stars," Charlotte says.

Beatrice smiles, and looks up into the sky. "You're right! How very soothing."

Charlotte sighs, and looks back to the ground. She starts to walk forward, and Beatrice walks after her.

"It's time, I think, to return to the house. I believe that I should like some mulled wine."

"That sounds quite splendid, Highness."

*-*

Later that evening, Charlotte sits on the edge of her bed. She wears a heavy cotton nightgown.

There is a knock at the door. Charlotte stands and opens it. 

Beatrice is on the other side. She wears a nightgown as well, with a red and green ribbon around her neck, tied into a neat bow at her throat. Her hair, no longer in its distinctive style, spills loosely over her shoulders.

"Good evening Beato," Charlotte says as the younger girl enters.

"Good evening, Highness."

Charlotte closes the door, and smiles. "You may address me less formally, Beato. We're in private, and I shan't be offended."

"It still wouldn't be quite proper, and saying 'Highness' feels less awkward than calling you 'ma'am.' "

Charlotte makes a face, drawing a giggle from the younger girl.

"Charlotte," the Princess says. "Please, address me as Charlotte."

Beatrice sighs. "Well. Shall I help you with your hair, High ... erm. Princess?"

Charlotte barely keeps from rolling her eyes. "Of course," she replies.

She sits at a chair in front of a dressing table. She feels Beatrice's hands run through her hair, before she unties the black ribbon around the end of her braid.

"You know, I can't fathom why you wear your hair like this. It's so very soft and pretty, it's a shame not to grow it out."

"I prefer this style. It is distinctive and modern. Besides, it is easy to maintain. I can braid it myself, and it takes far less time to wash."

"Highness, you needn't worry about such things," she says as she begins to run a boar-bristle brush through her hair. "I can maintain it for you. You needn't bother with it at all."

Charlotte frowns. "You will not always be with me, Beato."

Beatrice freezes, long enough that Charlotte notices.

"Beato," she continues, "we have had this discussion before. Do not make me repeat myself."

Beatrice sighs, and continues to brush Charlotte's hair. "I know. I'm maintaining my grades."

"Thank you."

"And yet, you really are important."

"No, what is really important is your future."

Beatrice sighs. "Yes, Your Highness."

She spends several more minutes brushing Charlotte's hair. Longer than is really necessary, the Princess believes.

"There," she says at last, setting the brush down.

Charlotte stands, and smiles. "Thank you. Do you need assistance with your hair?"

Beatrice shakes her head. "I'm not doing anything more with it tonight."

"Well, we can allow ourselves the luxuries of long, hot baths in the morning. I intend to wash mine then. And no," she says as Beatrice opens her mouth, "I shall not need assistance."

Beatrice shrugs. "I am willing to help."

"And I do appreciate you."

Charlotte sits on the edge of the bed, and Beatrice sits beside her.

It's a very large, four-poster bed. Large enough for three to lay side by side, on their backs, without their elbows so much as grazing each other. Dozens of pillows are piled up at one end, and the sheets and blankets are pulled back invitingly.

"I wish we could spend more evenings together like this, Princess."

"As it is, you bend curfew by visiting me in the evening. I don't believe they would overlook staying in my room overnight."

Beatrice sighs. "I suppose not." She then yawns, and scoots to the middle of the bed. 

"Tired?"

"A little. I'm not really used to drinking wine."

Charlotte pulls her legs up and settles down onto her back. "I imagine not. I suppose gin is more your drink?"

Beatrice giggles. "No! Foul stuff, tastes like cleaning fluid."

"Oh? You've had cleaning fluid, then?"

Beatrice scowls. "I have had the misfortune of trying gin, and that is more than sufficient, thank you very much."

Charlotte rolls onto her side, smiling. She props herself up on an elbow. Beatrice is on her back, still frowning up at the ceiling.

"Perhaps rum is more to your tastes?"

"No thank you," Beatrice replies with forced politeness.

Charlotte laughs, and Beatrice can't maintain her sour expression.

"Tea, with an occasional sip of wine, is more than sufficient," the girl says, with exaggerated seriousness. "For both of us."

Charlotte sighs and settles her head down in a mass of pillows. "I quite agree."

Beatrice yawns again, and her eyelids start to flutter closed. She had been the one to insist on sharing a bed. Had said something about laying up well into the morning hours, chatting about everything and nothing. And yet now, Charlotte watches as the girl sinks into the criminally-comfortable pillows beneath her head. Soon, her face relaxes, her breathing becomes quiet and even, and her arms rest limply at her side.

Charlotte gently pulls the covers over her. "Good night, Beato."

*-*

When Charlotte's eyes open again, the room is still dark. It's some time after midnight, but she isn't sure when. Then again, with it being Christmas Eve it doesn't especially matter. The staff will serve dinner for them just after noon, and they will exchange gifts later in the evening. Otherwise, they have no particular plans, though Charlotte intends to go back outside, weather permitting.

Beatrice is still on her back, her breathing slow and even. Charlotte can see the girl's face clearly even in the dim light. She looks very peaceful.

Charlotte knows Beatrice is in love with her. Or rather strongly suspects. No words have been spoken, Beatrice, she believes, is too shy, and too conscious of their differences in status. Not to mention the fact that relationships between girls are not proper. Not illegal, unlike relationships between men, but far from accepted.

Charlotte, for her part, hasn't said anything. She isn't concerned about the difference in their status, nor of a potential scandal. Instead, she holds out hope to find the girl she met nearly ten years before. She would be a young woman by now, actually.

Charlotte sighs. She's been searching for her, on and off, for a decade. More off than on, if one is honest. Recently, with the nominally greater independence she has as a student, she's been able to search the likely places in London: shops, cafés, townhomes of the rich and well connected -- where a street girl just might be turned into a proper maid.

She has searched less pleasant places too: prisons, morgues, brothels. While Charlotte desperately wants to find her, she is thankful to have not found her there.

It is like the proverbial needle in a haystack. London has five million souls, give or take. They are up and awake at all hours, scurrying around the city like ants. She has always known the odds were against her. She still tried. She will continue to try.

Beatrice mutters something, and Charlotte focuses her attention on her friend. She's still sleeping, though her nose is wrinkling at something. A dream of some kind.

She is kind, loyal to a fault, filled with joy and wonder at the world around her. She presents a proper front, Charlotte suspects, as a kind of shield. She's been hurt, far more severely than one of her age ought, and yet her heart remains so very open.

Charlotte can't quite help herself, and she gently brushes a stray hair out of Beatrice's face. The girl's nose again wrinkles, and she mutters something else.

Charlotte smiles.

Beatrice's eyes slowly open. "Highness?"

Charlotte shakes her head slowly. "Good morning, Beato."

Beatrice yawns, and slowly sits up. "Morning."

"Well," Charlotte says, rolling onto her back. "It is technically morning. The sun is not yet risen, though."

Beatrice blinks, and glances around the room. "Um. Shall I make us tea?"

Charlotte smiles, and closes her eyes. "No need. If you would like tea, you may summon a servant."

Beatrice frowns, and lays back down on the bed. "I was meaning, if you wanted tea."

"Should I want any, I shall summon a servant."

Beatrice doesn't respond. Charlotte opens her eyes, and turns to look at her, half assuming she's fallen asleep again.

Instead, the girl is on her side, her gaze focused on Charlotte.

"Is everything alright?"

Beatrice nods, smiling. "Yes, Highness. Everything is perfectly alright."

"Good."

Beatrice yawns again, and closes her eyes.

Charlotte watches her for a few moments, while Beatrice's face relaxes. While her breathing becomes steady and even. Then, when she's sure Beatrice is asleep again, she closes her eyes, and lets herself drift back into slumber.


	8. Chapter 7

Ange feels warm, safe, and secure. She feels light, as though she is floating, but with each passing moment she feels heavier. More real and present.

She's laying on her side in bed. In a bed. It isn't hers. It's very comfortable, but unfamiliar. She is wearing her pyjama top. She isn't wearing her new necklace, but she vaguely remembers taking that off before crawling into bed.

As the foggy haze of sleep and alcohol fade, she realizes that she isn't alone. A pair of arms are wrapped around her waist, a body pressed tightly against her back.

_Daisy_.

The older girl's wearing her pyjama top too, creating a thin barrier between their bodies. Except for their entangled legs, which are bare to their thighs. The feeling of contact, of her skin pressing against Daisy's, is pleasant beyond words. A small part of her wants to feel all of Daisy's skin against hers, without the pyjamas in the way. Her cheeks heat up and she pushes the thought aside.

Ange's eyes open slowly. The room is still dark, only a thin sliver of artificial yellowish light runs along the floor, through a gap in the curtain.

The previous night is mostly a blur. She remembers mulled wine, kisses, and cuddles. She is slightly surprised that she isn't waking up in Daisy's lap.

She has a moment of guilt. She feels that she's betraying the promise she made to Charlotte. They would be together forever. Together, that didn't mean in each other's company forever, did it? It was more than that. Charlotte vowed to change the world in Ange's name, for her sake.

At the time it had felt very special. Later in life, it felt like more. A proposal, or even a ritual, of marriage. But, that was only years later. Children grow up. They change, and mature. What was Charlotte like now? Surely not still thinking about her.

Ange sighs quietly, closing her eyes again. She feels Daisy's arms tighten around her, and her lips press lightly against her hair.

"You're awake," Ange whispers.

"Mm." Daisy nuzzles and kisses in Ange's hair.

Ange giggles softly. "Happy Christmas Day."

Daisy mumbles something into Ange's hair, that could be an appropriate response.

Ange can¨t help but giggle again.

Daisy shifts very slightly. Ange feels her breath graze her earlobe, sending a shiver down her spine. When Daisy follows that up by pressing her lips softly in the same place, Ange makes a soft cooing sound.

"Like that?" Daisy whispers into her ear.

"Little bit," Ange sighs.

Daisy kisses her ear again, then trails slow, tender kisses down her cheek, and jawline.

Ange shifts onto her back, and Daisy, with a quiet giggle, obligingly kisses the younger girl's lips.

The kiss lingers. Ange feels Daisy pressing against her, their legs rubbing together.

The kiss breaks, and Ange's eyes open. She can see Daisy's lavender eyes clearly, for all the dimness of the room.

"You are so very pretty, Ange."

Her cheeks heat up. "Um. I think you are the pretty one."

Daisy laughs, and gives Ange's lips a quick, fluttery kiss. "I don't mind hearing that, but I still think you're the prettier one."

Ange smiles. "So is this to be our first argument, then? Which of us is the prettier?"

"Perhaps. Though it's painfully obvious who'll win."

"Is that so?" Ange asks.

"Yup. Open and shut, winner me."

Ange's brows raise, but before she can say anything, Daisy's lips claim hers again. The kiss lingers, and when it breaks, Daisy giggles.

"See?"

"You cheat," Ange says in a playful tone.

"Naturally," she replies.

Daisy again shifts, settling down on her side with her head on Ange's chest, one arm draped over Ange's belly, one leg resting across Ange's thighs.

Ange runs her fingers through Daisy's hair, and the older girl sighs.

"This is living," Daisy says wistfully.

"It is very nice," Ange agrees.

They lay silently for a while, their eyes closed, softly caressing each other as they share warmth and comfort.

"Daisy," Ange says after a moment.

"Hm?"

"What happened last night?"

"Hm?"

"I presume this is your bed?"

"Yeah," Daisy says, languid and not very interested in details.

"What happened?" Ange repeats

"Well, we finished off the mulled wine. You insisted that you were not drunk, as you hadn't had nearly enough. I opened up a bottle of Scotch, and we went through that too. I mean, between kisses."

"Of course."

"After a certain time, you were starting to doze off. I gently suggested that it was, perhaps, time for bed. You agreed, pulled yourself to your feet, and staggered down the hall. I followed after a moment, and saw that you were standing in front of my door. I asked 'What's wrong?' and you replied 'I am not permitted in there without your permission.' "

Ange's face turned red. "I what?"

"Basically my reaction too. I figured the alcohol had got to your head, and you were thinking better of the 'let's go slowly' thing, so I opened the door. You promptly plopped down on my bed, and gave me an odd look."

"I see."

"I took that as an invitation. You, however, made it very clear that you intended to maintain a slow and steady speed limit."

Ange's eyes widen. "I did?"

"I tried. I teased and pushed your boundaries. They held quite firm, and as intoxicated as you surely were, you knew exactly what limits you wanted to maintain. And, with that established, I conceded those limits to you."

"Thank you."

Daisy smiles. "I'll never, ever do more than you want. I mean, I'll still push those boundaries. Just, I'll stay on the far side of 'em until you welcome me across."

They grow silent, and become content just to lay there, together.

Some time later, Ange finds herself waking up again. She's alone in bed, on her back. She sits up slowly, vaguely confused, until she smells the scent of coffee wafting in through the open door to the bedroom.

She yawns, stands up, and pads out to the kitchen where she sees Daisy standing and watching the siphon machine.

"Mornin'," Ange yawns again.

Daisy grins at her. "Morning. Coffee's almost ready."

"Mm. Breakfast?"

"Pastries from last night are still on the table."

Ange nods, and walks out to the living room. She frowns at the mess: the pot that had held the mulled wine sits beside an empty bottle of Scotch, two mugs, three dirty glasses (though she can't figure out why three), and half a dozen plates that are loosely stacked and covered in crumbs.

She sighs, and forces herself to sit down and grab a gingerbread girl. She's staring at it when Daisy comes in with two steaming hot mugs of coffee.

"You alright?"

Ange nods, and bites off a leg.

"Scary," Daisy says in a slightly teasing voice. She sets the mugs of coffee down, leans down to kiss Ange's cheek, and then settles into the sofa beside her.

"Want somfin?" Ange asks through a mouthful of gingerbread.

Daisy grins. "Uh huh. I'll settle for a gingerbread girl though."

Ange stops chewing for a moment. Her cheeks turn pink, and she hastily swallows. "You are incorrigible."

"Yup."

Ange shakes her head, and hands her a gingerbread girl, with a pink frosted dress.

They eat and drink their coffee, then Ange curls her legs up under her. She leans in close to Daisy, who wraps her arms around her, and kisses her lips softly.

"Any plans today?" Ange asks.

"This, mainly."

Ange closes her eyes, and nuzzles softly into Daisy's side. "Good."

"If you get hungry later, I got us cooked, sliced, Christmas ham, and some bread from the café."

"Ham sandwiches for Christmas dinner?"

"Why not?"

Ange sighs. "I suppose that's fine."

"If you really insist, I suppose we could go out. There's a restaurant I know is open today, that serves Christmas dinner: turkey, roasted vegetables, potato, even a little Christmas pudding for dessert."

"That sounds nice."

"Have to get dressed for that."

Ange frowns, and looks at Daisy. "You mean, they'd not allow us in like this?"

Daisy giggles, and looks at Ange's bare legs. "I'd be inclined to let a pretty girl like you in my café dressed in even less."

Ange grins, and closes her eyes again.

"But," Daisy continues, "I doubt the proprietors are quite as, hm, _loose_ in regards to propriety."

"Hum. Then we have an issue. Comfort, and making due with ham sandwiches, or getting dressed and bundling up, daring life and limb in the frigid, arctic blast, in order to have a nice dinner."

Daisy gives Ange a tight squeeze. "My vote's comfort."

"It is very tempting," Ange agrees.

*-*

In the end, the prospect of a nice, hot dinner wins out, even if only just. They bundle up against the cold, and make their way to the restaurant.

The service is quick and efficient, and the waitresses are surprisingly cheerful considering that it's Christmas Day. They linger for a while after eating, nursing coffee (which Daisy critiques for being neither fast nor especially good) before trudging back home.

They undress, Daisy walking naked into Ange's room to wrap her arms around the younger girl's waist before she can pull on pyjamas. She kisses the back of Ange's head, and holds her for a long while.

"Daisy?"

"Hm?"

"While this is quite comfortable .…"

"Isn't it?"

Ange sighs. "It is very comfortable. However .…"

Daisy sighs now, and releases her. "Too much too soon?"

Ange turns to her, not quite able to make eye contact, nor able to find another part of Daisy to look at that isn't even more uncomfortable at that moment. "A bit."

Daisy leans in, and Ange doesn't refuse a kiss. It deepens, until Ange feels Daisy's hands becoming a bit too free for her liking. She breaks the kiss and pulls away.

Daisy smirks, and shrugs. "Pushing boundaries," She says.

"Please behave yourself," Ange says, more teasing than angry.

 

*-*

 

Boxing Day is busy, as Daisy predicted. They have a steady stream of customers at each of the usual rushes, and more in between those times than usual.

At teatime, Lily enters the café, unaccompanied by her usual friends. Daisy ends up going out to her table.

"Welcome. How may I help you?"

Lily briefly looks disappointed, but manages to smile. "Well. As you can see I am on my own today."

"Yeah, everything alright?"

"Yes, my friends declined to come today. In fact, I had hoped to bring you new customers, but they had other holiday plans, alas."

"Too bad. Well, thanks for coming by. What'd you like?"

"Lapsang souchong, with honey and milk. Also an apple tart, if you have it."

"We do, sure. Have it right out for you."

"Thank you."

She moves behind the counter, and stops behind Ange, who is making a pair of espressos.

"Your other girlfriend wants an apple tart," she whispers, teasingly.

Ange shoots her a dark glare, and Daisy giggles as she hurries into the kitchen.

The tea water is pre-heated, kept warm in a teapot with a thick knit cozy over it. It looks a little silly, but it works well enough.

She takes a tea strainer, a spherical wire mesh on a handle, opens it, and spoons tea leaves in. She pours hot water into a teacup, then she sets the strainer in.

While it brews, she opens up a small pot of honey, setting it by the mug, then takes a bottle of milk from the icebox.

She considers for a moment buying another icebox to keep behind the counter in the café. It would make things a little faster. At least for those that want milk in their coffee.

She lets the thought pass, and pulls the strainer out of the cup, then adds honey and milk, places the cup and a spoon on a tray, and moves back out to the café.

Ange is making more espresso for two new customers who stand at the counter. Another customer stands a little behind them, looking slightly impatient.

Daisy takes a moment to grab an apple tart from the display case and add it to the tray. She moves around the counter, and passes by the waiting customer. "Sorry for the delay, We'll be right with you."

He makes a noncommittal grunt, and Daisy continues to the table whereLily is sitting. She smiles, and sets the tea and tart in front of her.

"There you go."

"Thank you. Oh. Um, could you kindly give Miss Ange my regards?" Lily asks, her cheeks turning light pink.

Daisy chooses to grin widely, despite a stab of what she can only label as jealousy. "Sure thing, ma'am."

 

*-*

 

The café remains busy until early evening, and Daisy closes up when the last few customers finally filter out. After hastily cleaning and turning off the gas to the lights, espresso machine, and oven, the two trudge wearily upstairs.

Ange collapses onto the sofa with a sigh, and Daisy leans down to give her a quick kiss.

"That," Ange mutters, "was our busiest day yet, I do believe."

"Yeah, it usually is. The day that Academy lets out for summer is usually busy too. Students are all packed up and ready to leave on holiday, sixth years are getting ready to have their last week together before graduating and heading off to adulthood. Somehow they all agree they don't want to settle for the school's cafeteria."

"Something to look forward to then," Ange says with a trace of bitterness in her voice.

"Money, darling. Remember that."

"Yes, money. I suppose I must consider that more carefully. I mean, I won't be earning a paycheck any longer, will I?"

"Oh, you want to become co-owner with me?"

Ange smiles. "Of course. It seems the right course."

Daisy kisses her again, then walks off. "I'm going to get more comfy. Choose a drink."

"I don't know if I can stay awake that long."

Daisy laughs. "My lap's free."

Ange's cheeks heat up, but she smiles. She pulls herself to her feet with a groan, and walks into her room. She frowns. "Daisy?"

The older girl peeks in the room. She's wearing her purple pyjama top. "Hm?"

"Doesn't it seem silly now?"

Daisy enters, and puts her arms around Ange's waist. "What?"

"To have separate rooms."

Daisy's smile widens. "I guess it kinda does, yeah. So you want to move in to mine?"

Ange turns around, to press against Daisy, and give her lips another quick kiss. "It seems logical. We can have this as a guest room again."

"For the hordes of people visiting us, you mean?"

"Besides, I," Ange blushes, and shrugs.

"Want to sleep with me?"

Ange's blush deepens. "When you say it like that, it sounds sordid."

"It kinda is," Daisy says teasingly.

"Still ... it is true."

Daisy caresses Ange's cheek, and their lips meet yet again. "I'd love it," she whispers.

*-*

Ange manages to drink one glass of Scotch before exhaustion takes over. She casually strolls into Daisy's room and sits on the edge of the bed. Daisy joins her after a moment. They kiss and cuddle, laying down in the bed, and the next thing Ange knows, she's waking up to the annoying sound of Daisy's alarm clock.

*-*

The following day is back to normal. It's only a few more days until the New Year, and the café's schedule is much the same. New Year's Eve turns slow. A café that doesn't serve alcohol, and doesn't stay open past midnight, is the very last place anyone wants to be that evening. New Year's Day they stay closed, so the second of January is their first business day of the new year.

Ange sits behind the counter. It's a slow period of the day, after Teatime, but not quite late enough in the evening to justify closing. She's looking forward to New Year's Eve. There aren't any surprises this time, because she knows that Daisy has already purchased a nice bottle of champagne.

The bell above the door jingles, and a brief twinge of annoyance runs through Ange, she forces a smile to her lips, and looks up.

It's Marilla, bundled tightly up against the cold, her bonnet and coat dusted with snow.

Ange's cheeks turn red. She hadn't quite considered how she'd handle seeing her again.

"Evening, Ange. You free?"

"Well," she begins slowly.

The door to the back room opens, and Daisy comes out. "Hey there Marilla."

"Evening. I was just asking Ange if she was free."

Ange looks uncertainly at Daisy, who sits beside her. "Well, I don't think we're gonna get many more customers, if any. If you wanna head out it's fine."

"Are you certain?" Ange's question isn't just, or even mainly, about Daisy being able to handle her own café.

"Yeah," Daisy nods. She looks into Ange's eyes, and a thin smile crosses her lips.

It's almost as though they can hear each other's thoughts, though she's surely reading too much into it.

"Thank you."

"Behave yourself," Daisy says teasingly, though Ange is certain she isn't joking.

"I always do," she replies.

*-*

It's dismally dark and cold. The gaslights tint the falling snow yellow, giving the streets of London an otherworldly glow. Ange and Marilla are both tightly bundled up in thick coats and scarves.

They don't go far, ducking into a restaurant that's still open. Marilla leads them to a booth in a secluded corner. Ange feels her stomach twist. She doesn't want to hurt Marilla, but she has to tell her. And she has the feeling that things could go very badly in very short order.

As they sit and wait for their food, Marilla scoots closer to Ange.

"So, tell me how your Christmas went."

Ange blushes, and takes a long sip of her hot tea. "It was nice. Quiet, I suppose. Just me and Daisy. How was yours?"

Marilla grins. "Noisy. Dad's just retired, and Mum quit her job some time ago. They're both slower and creakier than they used to be, but they were truly filled with the Holiday Spirit. My older sister can't stop talking about

her fiancé. Who, I hasten to point out, was also in attendance. He seemed nice enough, though I don't recall him speaking more than five words at a time."

"Interesting."

"Which of course led to questions as to why I was not yet engaged."

Ange looks down at her hands since she isn't able to keep eye contact at that moment.

"Anyway," Marilla continues, apparently not noticing, "my younger sister's studying to take the entrance exam to Queen's Mayfair Academy."

"Really? That's quite a nice school."

"Sure, sure. I hope she does well, but ... I gotta be honest, she's a bit scattered at times."

"Oh. I hope she can focus for the exam."

"I know? If she makes it, she'll be the first in the family to study past compulsory education. Anyway, my oldest brother wasn't there, but he sent a telegram from Bermuda. He's in the navy, you see."

"Interesting."

"So, all in all, a very nice Holiday."

Their food arrives, and Ange focuses on eating. She has a pork pie, mashed potatoes, and mixed vegetables. Marilla has a beefsteak and a baked potato.

"So," Marilla says as she eats. "What did you and Daisy do?"

Ange winces, and her face turns red. "Um."

Marilla's eyes widen. "Ange? That face your making is ... what did you two do?"

"We drank mulled wine and ate biscuit and pastries. We exchanged gifts. Then we," Ange's voice drops to a whisper. "Kissed."

Marilla nearly chokes, but manages to swallow down her bit of potato. "Pardon? Was mistletoe involved somehow? Like ... not a for real kiss?"

Ange sighs. "No. Daisy kissed me, quite intensely, and said she wanted us to be together. I ... well, I agreed."

"Oh? Is that right, miss not ready for a relationship?" Marilla sounds more amused than jealous.

Ange shrugs. "It was somewhat impulsive."

" _Somewhat_?"

"Well, it is a different situation after all. She and I are well-established, even if only as coworkers. We know each other quite well, and there isn't quite so much concern about providing for one another. We're already doing so, after a fashion."

"I suppose so."

"Are you jealous?" Ange asks quietly after a moment.

"Massively," Marilla replies, though she is still smiling. "I wish I was so lucky."

Ange shrugs. "I mean, the way we were talking ...."

"Don't bring that up."

Ange blinks in surprise.

"I mean it. I still like you, and I want us to continue to spend time together. If you bring up those ... possibilities, I might just become jealous for real."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. So, _do_ you want to continue spending time with me?"

"Of course."

"Good. Daisy's welcome too. Maybe we can push her and Rita together, so I can steal you back?"

Ange giggles softly. "I don't think they're of a type."

Marilla smiles. "No, not by half. First thing, Rita has a boyfriend."

Ange looks surprised by this. "Oh. I didn't know."

"She keeps it quiet, mostly. Oh, so that also means I never told you."

"Of course not."

"Anyway, he's a really nice kid she knew when she was in school. They lost touch once she started working at the laundry mill, but he turned up a bit ago. "

"Is that why she hasn't been available to go with us much lately?"

"Yup. Honestly, they're cute together. Hope it works out for them."

Ange nods slowly. "Give her my best wishes."

"Sure, though since I can't admit to her I told you this, it'll seem a bit ... strange."

Ange shrugs. "Oh. Right."

They lapse into silence again, and finish their food. For dessert, they both order Christmas pudding and coffee.

"Ange," Marilla says as she holds her coffee mug.

"Yes?"

"If anything bad happens, talk to me."

"Oh."

"I mean it. If Daisy hurts you, I'll kick her arse."

Ange cant help but grin. "I doubt it will come to that,"

"Still, keep it in mind"

"You really do sound jealous now."

"As hell," Marilla says. She sounds serious. "However, I am happy for you. I hope she treats you well, and you have a long and fulfilling life together."

*-*

 

Daisy is prepared to close the café early, but a short while after Ange and Marilla leave, the bell above the door jangles. Before she can even begin her greeting, she sees that it's a familiar face.

"Good evening Eleanor."

The woman enters the café with a wide smile, despite red cheeks and snow piled on her hat and shoulders. "Good evening, Daisy. I do hope you're still open."

"For you? Sure."

Eleanor's smile widens further. As she kicks snow off of her boots, and brushes it from her hat and shoulders, Daisy closes the shutters over the window and locks the door.

"So, I suppose that I am your last customer of the evening?"

"Yup. What can I get you?"

Mostly defrosted, Eleanor walks to the counter and sits on a stool. "Espresso to start with."

"Sure thing," Daisy replies, and she begins to make her drink.

"You seem unusually cheerful tonight. I suppose you had a pleasant Christmas?"

Daisy grins very widely. "Very nice, yeah."

"Did you visit family?"

"Nah, the only family I've got left isn't the kind to celebrate like that. No, Ange and I spent the holiday together."

Eleanor's smile falters fractionally. "Is that so? I suppose you were having what amounted to a company party?"

Daisy giggles. "Oh, it was a little more than that."

Eleanor coughs, and glances at the cup of coffee as it's set in front of her. "If I may have milk and sugar as well."

"Oh, sure, just a moment."

Daisy goes to the kitchen, and shuts down the oven. Tomorrow's bread and pastries are sitting to cool, and since she's closed the café, she won't need it again tonight.

She then pours a little sugar into a shallow bowl, and some milk into a small ceramic pitcher.

She comes back out to see Eleanor looking at the food in the display case.

"Want something else?"

"Well, I might just. I do have a question?"

"Only chocolate éclairs, and no doughnuts today. Sorry."

"No, it ... it isn't pertaining to food. It may be too personal ...."

"Ask away, I've little shame."

"That I can believe," Eleanor remarks dryly, making Daisy laugh. "No, I was simply wondering, if you and Miss Ange ... how do I word it?"

"If we're a thing? An item?"

"Such interesting ways to put it."

Daisy smiles, and leans forward. "We kissed. Oh, it was a nice kiss."

Eleanor's cheeks turn red, and she focuses on spooning sugar into her coffee. "I ... see."

"So yeah, we're a thing alright."

Eleanor nods, not meeting Daisy's eyes, and pours milk into her coffee. She slowly and deliberately stirs it. "Well. I suppose congratulations are in order, then."

"Thanks! So yes, my holiday was very nice indeed. Oh, how was yours?"

"Quiet. My superior had a last minute memorandum that needed typing, in order to present it to the government before the end of the year."

"You worked late Christmas Eve?"

"I did."

"That's a pity."

"Well, I had no other plans. Nowhere to be, nor anyone to be there with."

Daisy nods, and stands up. "Well, relaxing at home's a nice way to spend a holiday too. Oh, did you want anything else?"

Eleanor, still not looking up from her coffee, shakes her head slowly. "No thank you. I've decided I haven't an appetite after all."

 

*-*

 

New Year's Eve is slow, like Daisy predicted it would be. Teatime is slow that Daisy closes up before it's technically over. They take their time cleaning the place, since it's the last cleaning of the year. 

"Get a fresh start in a fresh year," Daisy had said.

With the café swept and mopped, the tables and counters wiped down, the kitchen and back room straightened up, they take a few extra minutes to go through the walk-in freezer. They throw out a few items that have been in there long enough that they don't feel safe selling them any longer, and chip away some built-up ice in one far corner.

They finish their extended cleaning task about the time they'd usually close up, then retire to the flat for the evening.

The champagne sits in a bucket of ice on the coffee table, and the alarm clock has also been set on the table, with the alarm set for a few minutes before midnight. They have a light supper of ham sandwiches, change into their usual pyjama tops, and cuddle together on the sofa.

They chat idly about the events of the last year. Really, more the last four or five months. Ange coming to work at the café, making herself so big a part of Daisy's life.

"My falling in love with you," Daisy idly mentions.

Ange blushes at this, but doesn't say anything. It's the first time she's heard Daisy say those words. It's not like there was any doubt. When she thinks about it, there were signs well before she and Daisy kissed on Christmas Eve. It's just that she has never said "love you" directly.

The moment passes, and they continue alternating between idle chatter and passionate kisses.

They've decided not to drink before a quarter til midnight, or so. They notice the time without needing the alarm. Daisy shuts it off, then opens the champagne bottle.

Ange half-expects she'll spray champagne all over the room, but she's quite careful. The pop of the cork still makes Ange jump.

They sit on the edge of the sofa, wine glasses filled with champagne in hand. Watching the hand of the clock as it inches toward 12.

About a minute before the clock reads midnight, they hear the distant sounds of fireworks.

Daisy shrugs sheepishly. "Um. Happy New Year, I guess."

Ange grins, and raises her glass. "Happy New Year."

 

*-*

 

Daisy's eyes open slowly. It's surprisingly light in the room, as natural sunlight trickles in past the curtain. She's laying on her side, in her bed. Ange is pressed tightly against her, and Daisy smiles. She kisses the back of Ange's head, and gives her waist a squeeze.

The younger girl mutters something, but doesn't wake up.

Daisy sighs, and closes her eyes. Suits her just fine. This is far too comfortable, and she doesn't want to move.

They had polished off the champagne last night, and retired to bed at something like two in the morning. After midnight, they really hadn't minded the time at all, so it was hard to say exactly.

As with most nights after Christmas Eve, they had cuddled and kissed, Daisy had pushed against Ange's boundaries, somewhat playfully, but they hadn't taken that extra step.

It confused Daisy. They loved each other, that much was obvious. Ange had no issues cuddling up with her, nor with intense kissing. She seemed to enjoy the closeness and the contact.

Then again, Daisy mused, she was used to being with men. She had never once had a man tell her no, and even more to the point, most of the time it was the man that initiated intimacy.

Well, there had been one exception: a man who was blatantly a Baptist, who had latched onto Daisy as a Project. He didn't drink, smoke, have sex, go to theaters ... really, he served as a very poor advertisement for the Baptist faith, in Daisy's mind.

She feels Ange stir in her arms, and gives her another affectionate squeeze.

"Morning," Ange mutters.

"Good morning, my love."

Ange shivers, and giggles softly. "Good morning," she repeats.

Daisy opens her eyes as Ange shifts to face her. Their gazes meet, and both girls smile.

Their lips press together, and when the kiss breaks Ange nuzzles softly against Daisy's neck.

"Good morning," Daisy repeats.

Ange giggles again. "Happy New Year."

"Cheater," Daisy teases.

"Mm hm," Ange says.

"Cheaters do not win," Daisy says.

"Cheaters _always_ win," Ange says playfully.

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yes," Ange sighs.

She kisses the nape of Daisy's neck, cuddling closer to her. She hears Daisy groan softly, and feels her hands trace slowly down her back.

"See?" Ange says with a grin.

Daisy laughs, and kisses Ange's forehead. "You got me."

"Have I? Well, then I suppose that I must keep you."

"You better," Daisy whispers, still teasing.

Ange goes quiet and still for a moment. "Daisy?"

"No," the girl says.

Ange pulls back slightly, to look into her eyes questioningly.

"No, we're not going to talk about it. You and me are the only two people that exist today."

"Oh." Ange's cheeks heat up, but she nods. "Right." She settles back into position, nuzzling and kissing Daisy's neck.

The older girl suppresses a sigh. They'll have to face it sooner or later. There are no surprises. She's known that Ange loves someone else since before they became a couple. And the odds that a celebrity would just waltz into the café ... it just doesn't happen in the real world.

Still. It is, as the Americans say, an elephant in the room. They can't ignore it forever, even if Ange never has the chance to meet "Charlotte" again.

But, they don't have to face it right now. She instead focuses on the immediate moment; the solid warmth of the girl in her arms, and the increasingly hard to ignore sensation of Ange's lips and tongue on her neck.


	9. Chapter 8

Ange always feels nervous in places like this. The fancy marble floor makes her footsteps louder, and there seems to be a security guard, with a revolver at his hip, beside every column.

When she was a child, before meeting Charlotte but after being adopted into the street gang, she and several of the other children cased a bank in a moderately nice neighborhood. They spent hours of otherwise free time planning how best to rob the place.

One boy, influenced by one too many American penny dreadfuls, recommended charging in with guns blazing, pistol-whipping the bank manager until he opened the vault, taking the cute schoolmarm hostage to keep the sheriff at bay, then riding their horses into the sunset to celebrate their ill-gotten gains. He became very quiet when it was pointed out they had none of those things. not even the cute schoolmarm.

As amusing as the thought normally is to her, Ange now feels as though every security guard has his eye on her. As though she would indeed draw a six-shooter and demand their money, or their lives.

Daisy doesn't notice. She walks confidently up to the counter, with Ange in tow. They get into a queue, and wait.

Daisy glances at a clock on the wall. "Ten minutes already."

Ange doesn't say anything. Today would normally be payday, so Daisy has closed the café to make the changes that need to be made.

The queue inches forward. Daisy sighs.

"You don't care for waiting," Ange observes. It isn't even so much a question.

"I hate places like this," Daisy mutters.

Ange glances at her in surprise.

"Reminds me just how little money I really have."

"Ah," Ange says with a nod.

Eventually, they reach the window, and face a young man with silver-rimmed spectacles and close-cropped black hair. He doesn't fit either stereotype Ange expects: the old grey-haired man, or the young attractive woman.

"How can I help you?" he asks with forced politeness.

"Want to make some changes to my business account."

"Name?"

"MacBean. Daisy's my name, business is Café MacBean."

The man frowns, and flips through a book on his side of the counter. "Alright. What sort of changes?"

"I want to take on a new partner. Give her access to the business account."

He hums and purses his lips. "I will have to ask you to step to one side."

"Um, why?"

The man frowns, apparently not pleased with being questioned.

"This is something that our manager must handle. Now, if you please?"

"Fine," Daisy grumbles. She stalks away, glaring at the next person in line, a gentleman in a severe business suit with greying hair. He returns the glare without being intimidated.

Daisy sits down in a sofa in a little waiting area at the front of the bank, and Ange sits beside her.

"Should be done already," Daisy mutters.

"Well," Ange says evenly, "we aren't."

"Don't places like this just get under your skin? So much money, armed guards, so many rich ... _people_."

Ange nods. "Yes, very much so. I hate banks."

"Yeah."

Ange starts to look nervous, now that she's admitted it, and Daisy pats her hand gently.

A man in a dark suit with balding, dark brown hair and a van dyke, walks over towards them. "Miss MacBean?"

She stands up. "Yes."

"I am Johnathan Robertson. I understand you need to make adjustments to your business account?"

"Yes sir."

He nods, and glances at Ange. "And you are a party to this matter as well?"

"Yes sir," she answers, casting a glance at Daisy.

"Well, if you'll follow me?"

He leads them out of the main bank floor, through a door marked "private" and into an office. He sits behind a large, intimidating oak desk.

"Now, as I understand it, you desire to add Miss?"

"Ange le Carré."

"Mademoiselle le Carré .…"

"Um," Ange says, blushing lightly. "Just miss."

He glances at her, with a thin frown. "You are not French?"

"No sir. Nor am I Norman."

He nods. " _Ms_ le Carré, then. You want her added to your account."

Ange clenches her fists and takes a deep breath, but says nothing.

"Yes," Daisy answers, not appearing to notice.

He nods again, and purses his lips.

"You've no credit history to speak of."

"I," Ange begins, but stops when Daisy holds her hand up.

"She's been working for me for four months, nearly five."

"Yes. We have record of a, ahem, _modest_ personal account in _Ms_ le Carré's name, opened some months ago."

"Right, when I started work at the café."

He nods again, and looks at some other papers. "Well," he begins, folding his hands together on his desk, "it is somewhat unusual to take on a new partner after three years' business. Not unheard of, mind. We are prepared to add _Ms_ le Carré to your account, but on very specific terms."

Ange believes that her fingernails are leaving marks in her palm, but she manages not to scowl.

"Terms?" Daisy asks.

"One month's probation, which is to say during that month, she is permitted to deposit money into the business account, and to pay bills either by company check or by wire. She is not permitted to withdraw money, nor to have access to financial details, until after the month period has ended. At least, not without you present, Miss MacBean."

"Which basically means not at all, since if I'm here she has no reason to do those things."

The manager smiles, and spreads his hands. "I do apologize for any inconvenience, but that is, sadly, the best I am able to offer you."

"I accept," Daisy says with a frown.

"Splendid!" the man says, his smile widening. He pushes a piece of paper toward her. "Now, I will need you to sign this paperwork. _Ms_ le Carré is to sign on the line below your signature."

Ange takes a deep breath, slowly unclenches her fists, and nods. "Alright."

Daisy picks up the paper, and looks it over.

"Just standard clauses and conditions," the man says dismissively.

"And fees," Daisy says with a bitter tone.

"Well, naturally. We cannot process such a request without requiring a _modest_ fee."

Daisy sighs, and signs her name, then writes today's date. She hands the paper and fountain pen to Ange, who looks it over as well.

"After one month there is no legal difference between us?"

"That is correct, _Ms_ le Carré."

She is able to refrain from crumpling the paper into a tight ball and tossing it in the manager's face. Instead, she sets it down on the table, signs it, and dates it.

She pushes it back towards him, and he picks it up.

He glances at Ange with a vaguely critical look, then nods with a smile. "We'll have this processed within one business day."

"Thanks," Daisy says with strained patience.

"You are quite welcome. Now, have you any other business to attend to today?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Well then, good morning, ladies."

*-*

"Had the man said _Ms_ le Carré one time more, I'd have been fit to slap him," Ange grumbles.

They're walking down the street, away from the bank.

"We got it done though, dear."

"And didn't get laughed at and thrown out," Ange says bitterly. "I suppose that is a victory."

"No, it's the start of the next phase of our relationship."

Ange's bitter scowl softens at this, and she manages a smile. "I suppose you're right."

 

*-*

 

Very little changes, honestly. Daisy and Ange wake up together each morning, usually waking up before the alarm clock goes off. They cuddle for a few moments, sharing at least one kiss, before taking their showers. Separately. Ange still has limits, a line she feels, perhaps illogically, that she cannot cross without betraying Charlotte.

The General has long-since become used to the sight of both girls leaving the flat in the morning. He nods and says his simple greetings, then heads out.

They take turns locking up the flat, and heading on down the stairs to collect the morning paper. Daisy never really looks at it, though Ange always does. She is hoping for news about Charlotte ... good news that is.  Perhaps it's because she is a relatively young princess, but information about her is sparse. Ange assumes she's being sheltered by her family.

They split the morning tasks. One focuses on the kitchen, getting tea water heated up, getting the oven lit to bake the frozen dough for bread and pastries. The other works in the café, starting the espresso machine and unlocking the cash register, getting the lights turned on, and preparing to open.

Ange still handles laundry day. To Daisy, nothing looks different between them. Marilla always smiles, and laughs at Ange's jokes, and they spend just a moment longer than they ought making plans for their next outing.

Daisy busies herself in the kitchen at those times. Shes kneading bread dough today, while a batch of bread cools, and a tray of eclairs bakes.

She shouldn't be jealous. She tells herself this many times. Before she and Ange started their relationship, she had multiple men at her beck and call. Boyfriend of the Week, Ange had once called them. Out of jealousy, Daisy muses. That's changed now. Daisy, for the first time ever, has agreed to make a commitment.

Even if Ange cannot, to the same level.

And it isn't about Marilla. They're friends. They don't spend as much time together as they used to. A Sunday or two. A few evenings during the week. And, Ange always comes home. Late in the evening sometimes, but always comes home. She shouldn't be jealous of Marilla. Not really. And yet, here she is, working the bread dough harder than is necessary to keep from thinking about ....

The kitchen door opens, and Ange walks in. She leans against Daisy-s back, wrapping her arms around her waist, and leaning up on tiptoes to give her cheek a quick kiss.

Daisy forces a smile to her face, and glances back. "Hey there."

"Mm. The laundry is away."

"Good. Hows your other girlfriend doing, anyway?"

Ange frowns, and playfully swats Daisy's shoulder. "She is not, and has never been, my girlfriend."

Daisy laughs. "Uh huh."

"As it happens, Marilla is doing quite well."

"Oh, found someone has she?"

Ange shakes her head. "No, nor is she looking. Remember what I told you?"

"Sure, not ready for a relationship, wanting to save up money first, blah blah."

Ange's frown deepens. "Yes, and it is quite true."

"Well," Daisy says, turning around to face Ange. "Guess that worked out well for me then."

They kiss, and Ange's smile returns. "Us, my love. It worked well for us."

 

*-*

 

Several days pass. One advantage of being co owner of the café is that Ange can tell Daisy she has to be absent part of the day. She doesn't feel the pressure of working hard to keep her boss happy, and to keep earning a paycheck.

Its almost a month before St Valentines day, and Ange has taken a rather large amount of money out of her personal bank account. She doesn't have to save it against renting her own place any more, so she feels safe in spending it on a nice surprise for her girlfriend.

The thought sends a shiver down her spine. Its been nearly three weeks since they started their relationship, and its been wonderful. She has got over any lingering doubts she had at first, and though Charlotte remains in her thoughts, she no longer feels guilt. She is in love with Daisy. Shes decided this is true, and that it doesn't mean her love for Charlotte is in any way diminished. Changed? Perhaps. She wont know until, or unless, she meets her again.

Ange enters a shop she knows by reputation, after a trolley ride into a different part of town. This isn't a place she normally goes, and if Daisy shops here she hasn't mentioned it.

A young woman smiles as she enters. "Good morning ma'am. May I help you find something in particular?"

"Well," she says with a confident smile, "it so happens that I am looking for a gift for Valentines Day."

The woman's smile widens. "I see. Well, I'm gratified you've come to our shop. Does your sweetheart have a favorite color, or perhaps pattern that you'd like your gift in?"

"Purple and green are colors they are fond of," Ange muses.

The shopkeeper nods. "We have both colors available, though not commonly together. It may cost extra."

"That is fine," Ange says with a nod.

The woman smiles. "Well, then kindly have a look at our samples and catalogs. Once you've decided on what you'd like, I can take your measurements."

Ange nods. her cheeks turn pink at the thought. She takes a deep breath. Somehow that makes this feel just a little more real, and maybe just a bit sordid.

 

*-*

 

Ange returns to the café just before the lunch rush. She hurries up to the flat to find a place to hide her receipt and information from the shop. She wants it to be a surprise, after all.

Once she's hidden it in a place Daisy is certain not to look, she hurries down to the cafés back room, ties on an apron, and heads out to the café just as a group of three workmen enter.

She pats Daisy's shoulder, unable to hide a blush when the older girl smiles at her, and then heads out to the table where the men have sat, as four more customers, in two groups of two, enter the café.

It isn't any busier than usual, and as the rush passes Daisy retires to the kitchen with a tub full of dishes. Ange minds the counter.

The bell above the door rings, and Ange looks up, prepared to offer her usual greeting. It dies in her throat when she sees Marilla, Rita, Mary Jane, and the twins enter. Their shoulders are slumped, their pace slow. Rita and Mary Jane have red, puffy eyes, and the twins are sobbing, tears running down their cheeks.

"What happened?" Ange asks in a shocked tone.

"Um," Marilla begins. She sounds as bad as the others look.

Daisy comes out into the café, a look of concern on her face. "Talk to us."

The twins stay near the door, clutching tightly to each other. Rita and Mary Jane look at Marilla uncertainly. She walks over to the counter. "Well. Um. The laundry mill."

"What happened?" Ange repeats, in a firmer tone.

"It got closed down."

Ange can't suppress a gasp of surprise, and Daisy sits down heavily in a stool beside Ange.

A fresh heartbreaking sob comes from one of the twins, and Rita and Mary Jane both look on the verge of fresh tears as well.

"I don't," Ange stammers. "I mean, how? Why?"

"Apparently," Marilla said, anger and frustration obvious in her voice, "our dear beloved overseer was behind on his loan payments."

Ange glances at Daisy, who looks down at her hands.

"And," Marilla continues, "the bastard that held those loans got judgment against him. Unable to make a payment or sufficient arrangement, the mill was summarily taken over. The," Marilla glances at the twins, taking in a very deep breath, "man that took over, he strutted out like the cock of the walk, and informed us all our jobs were ended. No notice, no compensation, no nothing."

"That's terrible," Ange whispers.

"Well, he offered some of the, ahem, _cuter_ girls the chance to work for him. In what capacity, I shudder to imagine."

"Sounds familiar," Ange whispers, darkly.

"Yeah," Daisy says. "Look, you girls go ahead and take a seat. Stay as long as you like, alright? I mean ... you want anything?"

"We couldn't possibly," Marilla says. "I mean, we didn't know what else to do. We just ended up here. Can't quite see our way to buy anything under the circumstances."

"On the house," Daisy says. "Drinks, food, whatever. Least I can do."

Rita and Mary Jane do begin crying now, and the twins sniffle.

"Thank you," they both whimper more or less together.

"Yeah," Daisy says.

"We'll all take black tea," Marilla says.

The other four girls nod between their sobs.

"We'll have it right out," Ange says in the tenderest voice she can manage. "Don't forget our pastries. Sweets really do help after all,"

She then follows Daisy into the kitchen "We have to help them."

"Help? How d'you propose we do that, darling?"

Ange frowns, and begins the process of brewing tea. "Hire them," she finally says.

"Hire? Ange, my love, you mean to say hire all of them? Just all at once."

Ange frowns heavily. "We can do it."

"No, we cannot. First, I don't think the twins are old enough. Hell, I don't think they were old enough to legally work at the laundry mill either, but that's unimportant now."

Ange sighs. "I suppose you¨re right."

"I don't know Rita that well."

"I confess, I don't know her as well as I do Marilla."

"I don't think she can handle customers, to be honest. Look at how fragile she is."

"I think she's stronger than she looks."

"And Mary Jane? I ought just as well gather up all our food and pitch it in the rubbish bin and save the trouble."

Ange can't quite help but smile, bitter as the moment is. "I suppose it would be a mistake giving her access to the kitchen."

"So that leaves Marilla."

"She's old enough. Strong enough. Smart enough."

"And she's your second girlfriend."

"Daisy, please. Now is not the time, even in jest."

"Sorry. Still ... I can see her working here."

"As can I."

Daisy sighs. "Fine. I'll talk to her."

"Thank you."

They go back out, Ange carrying the tray with the five teacups. "Have you decided what you'd like?" she asks as she sets them down at the table Marilla and the others are at.

"Red velvet cake," Marilla says quietly. "Five slices. Make it easy on you."

"We're here to make it easy on you," Ange replies evenly.

The girls sip their tea, stirring in milk and sugar to taste, and Ange goes to the display case to get their cakes.

"Marilla," Daisy says, "mind if I have a word?"

The five former laundresses share looks, and Marilla nods slowly. "alright,"

Marilla stands, and follows Daisy around the counter and into the back room, while Ange places the slices of cake down for everyone.

"Is there a problem?" Rita asks, voice soft and uncertain.

"No," Ange says with a thin smile. "not at all."

She moves behind the counter, sitting and watching as the girls drink and eat. Slowly, and without their usual joy.

"So, what are we going to do?" one twin whimpers.

"My mum will be beside herself," Rita says quietly.

"You're really smart though," the other twin says. "You can even read! I think you can find a job in an office, maybe even using a type-writer."

"I suppose I'll try go go back to school," Mary Jane says, without enthusiasm.

"I'm scared of what papa is going to do," one twin whispers.

The other winces, and looks down at her cake. "He needs the money."

"We will think of something," Rita says quietly. "We will make it together, just as we have at the mill."

Mary Jane and the twins nod slowly, and fall silent. They continue to eat, as joyless as before.

After a moment, Daisy and Marilla come back out of the back room. Both are smiling.

"Thank you," Marilla says to Ange, patting her shoulder.

Ange smiles in response.

Rita and Mary Jane share a look, and the twins both look deeply confused.

Marilla walks around the counter, and over to the table.

Daisy leans in and gives Ange's cheek a quick, tender kiss. "You can guess what happened?"

"Girls," Marilla announces before Ange can respond. "As of tomorrow morning, I shall be working here, at Café MacBean."

The others look very surprised at this.

"Um," one twin says, "Um, you will?"

"Yes. And, Daisy has offered me an advance on my pay, which should be sufficient to help you out."

"Help us?" Rita asks, truly confused.

"Listen," Daisy says, "this is a hand that I'm offering you, alright? It isn't much, basically a full two weeks salary to split between you, but it should help. I mean, til all of you find something."

The twins sniffle. "Um. Thank you."

Rita and Mary Jane echo the sentiment.

Marilla sits and digs into her cake.

 

*-*

 

Their routine is disrupted. That morning, when Ange goes to get the newspaper, she finds Marilla standing just outside the front door.

"Come on in," she says with a smile.

"Oh. Okay. Um, boss?"

Ange shakes her head, still smiling. "you don't have to treat me any different."

Marilla walks in the door. The corridor is somewhat narrow. Just inside the door are the mail boxes for their flat and the General's, and a separate box for the café. On the opposite wall is the door leading into the cafés back room. The rest of the corridor is taken up by the stairs that lead up to the flats.

"This door isn't locked. You needn't wait outside."

Daisy comes down the stairs. "Heya Marilla."

"Good morning, Daisy."

"Now, you can call _me_ boss all you want," Daisy says playfully

"Alright, boss. Where do we begin?"

"Get her suited up with an apron," Daisy says to Ange, who nods and unlocks the door to the café. "You'll be doing menial tasks for a bit, sorry to say."

"I can do menial," Marilla says, still wearing a thin smile.

"Good to hear," Daisy says.

Ange has the door open, and has turned on the light. As Daisy unlocks the delivery door, Ange unceremoniously tosses an apron at Marilla. "Watch what we do. I mean, moreso than usual."

"Right," Marilla nods. She follows Ange out to the café, and dutifully observes Ange as she goes around turning up the lights, and checking the tables to make sure they're clean. When Ange comes back to the counter to start up the espresso machine, Marilla is smiling, sitting on a stool.

"I do feel like I can run that thing."

Ange begins the process of making two cups. "Hm. Well, you've been here often enough, I suppose."

"But?"

Ange smiles, and hands her a steaming hot mug. "But, hands off until Daisy says you're ready. That's how it was for me."

Marilla nods. "Got it."

Just then Daisy peeks out through the door to the back room. "Marilla, front and center."

She stands, and gives a mock salute with her free hand. "Yes ma'am."

"Come back to the kitchen with me. Gonna show you how things work there. Ange, open up whenever you're ready out here."

"Got it."

Marilla glances back at her with a grin, then disappears to the back with Daisy.

Ange drinks her mug of coffee, then cleans out the espresso machine. Everything is ready out here, so she pulls up the shutter, unlocks the door, and smiles as the familiar old couple shuffle in.

"Good morning," she says with a smile.

And with that, the café settles into a familiar routine.

 

*-*

 

As the last customers of the evening leave, Daisy closes and locks up. "Nice work today," she says with a smile.

Marilla is busy wiping down tables. "Thanks, boss."

"You have any plans tonight?" Daisy asks.

Marilla looks genuinely surprised, and casts a glance back to Ange. The blonde, wiping down the counter, shrugs.

"No," Marilla replies slowly.

"Well, come on up to the flat with us."

Marilla doesn't reply at first, resuming her task of cleaning the table.

Ange and Daisy share a look, and a thin smile crosses Ange's lips.

"Please?" she says. "Since you're our employee now, it'd be nice if you joined us. For tonight at least."

Marilla looks back up at Ange. "Oh. Well, I suppose I can't say no."

"You can," Daisy says. She's gone to another table to start wiping it down as well. "And it isn't gonna be every night."

"I imagine not. Alright, I'll come up."

They finish, and go up to the flat. Daisy takes out three clean glasses and sets them on the table. "Find us something nice to drink, dear."

Ange smiles. "Of course, darling."

While Ange is looking through the liquor cabinet, Daisy sits on the sofa and motions for Marilla to sit as well.

"So, what d'you think? Easier or harder than doing laundry?"

Marilla purses her lips and thinks. "Not sure yet. Harder by far today, but that's just because, well, never done this kind of thing before."

Ange has selected an especially nice bottle of Scotch, and pours even amounts into each glass. "I understand what you mean. I used to wait tables part-time, but even that didn't fully prepare me for what this café is like."

Marilla and Daisy scoot aside to give Ange enough room to squeeze in between them.

Daisy picks up her glass, and raises it. Ange and Marilla pick theirs up as well.

"To us," Daisy says, "Ange le Carré and her harem!"

Ange's cheeks redden, and she frowns. "Pardon?"

Marilla, grinning, playfully elbows Ange's side, and taps Daisy's glass. "Cheers!"

"Bottoms up," Daisy says with a glance at Ange, before she sips her drink. Marilla sips it as well.

Ange sighs. "I believe it would be more appropriate to say, 'to the success of our affairs.' "

Marilla giggles at this, making Ange's blush deepen.

"I mean ...."

"Our business endeavors," Daisy says with clear amusement.

"That," Ange nods, and drains half her Scotch.

"Cheers," Marilla says to this, and drinks.

"Anyway," Daisy says once she has drained her drink, "I just wanted you to feel ... well, at home here. I know things haven't gone too well for you lately."

Marilla finishes her drink, and Ange dutifully refills all three glasses.

"Well," Marilla says, "it hasn't been exactly as I'd hoped. Losing one's job so soon into the new year ... well, any time. I was afraid, truly afraid, that I'd not be able to find anything."

"I'm quite sure that's not true," Ange says.

"No, it is. I've only ever been a laundress. Our chief rival might've hired me, but I don't know if I'd feel right groveling to them."

Daisy winces. "Guess we'll have to change our business to them, though."

Marilla frowns. "I'd almost rather do your laundry myself, then have you do business with them."

"Are they that bad?" Ange asks.

Marilla shakes her head slowly. "Not really. Business-wise, they've been a thorn in our laundry mill since ... forever. See, their owner actually has some economic sense, and doesn't take out loans from a parasitical skunk."

"What an apt description," Ange says with a grin.

"It really is," Daisy nods in agreement.

"So really, I guess my old place was the problematic laundry mill. Anyway, I'm still glad I didn't have to go to them for a position."

"Well, I am happy you're here."

Daisy grins. "Of course you're happy she's here. That puts both your girlfriends in easy reach."

Ange and Marilla both turn frowns on Daisy.

"We are not girlfriends," Ange says with a sigh.

"I mean," Marilla says, "she's cute enough."

"She is very cute," Daisy agrees, making Marilla smile.

Ange shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her cheeks turning pink.

"Ange," Daisy continues, "is especially cute when drunk."

Marilla grins widely, while Ange's face now burns red-hot.

"She is, she is!"

"Marilla!" Ange says, in a shocked tone with wide eyes.

Daisy giggles.

"Alright," Ange says turning a frown on her girlfriend "How am I a cute drunk?"

"Simple, love. When you get drunk, like really drunk? You put a great deal of effort into making it seem that you are not."

Ange blinks, her head tilting in confusion.

"It's true," Marilla grins.

Ange turns to Marilla. "Explain?"

"Sure," Marilla nods. "You start to walk in a very slow, deliberate way."

"You over-pronounce your words."

"What?" Ange turns back to Daisy.

"Like, you're desperate not to slur them together, or slip into full-out Cockney."

"I would never!"

"You have," Marilla smirks.

Ange turns to her with a look of shock.

"Happened once," Marilla says. "We'd had a few more ales than usual, and were sitting side by side on the sofa."

"Is this a story that'll make me jealous?" Daisy asks teasingly.

"Of course, but all my cute Ange stories will make you jealous," Marilla replies, grinning widely.

Ange just shakes her head slowly.

"Anyway, for whatever reason, you didn't have your guard up, and there you are, in full East End mode."

"I cannot believe it."

"You were many, many sheets to the wind, so no surprise."

Ange covers her face in her hands.

"Like the first night we kissed, remember that?"

Ange keeps her hands over her face, and does not answer Daisy.

"She staggered to my door, and just stood there. She wanted to go to bed, had the idea that it was fine to sleep in mine, because wed kissed or something, but hadn't permission to go in."

"So she stood there waiting for you to let her in?"

"Yeah."

Marilla laughs, and puts an arm around Ange's shoulders. This earns her a glare from Ange, through spread fingers.

"We love you Ange, or we wouldn't tease you," Daisy says.

The glare is turned on Daisy, who laughs too.

"I cannot believe that I am betrayed in this manner," Ange whinges.


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains an incident of mild, but potentially disturbing, violence.

The 15th of February isn't a special day, much as Daisy would like to make it one. She cuddles with Ange when they wake up that morning, lingering as long as they can.

"That little outfit you got sure does look cute, over there on the floor," Daisy teases. Ange is both pleased and embarrassed.

They shower, together this time, and prepare for the day. They're perhaps slightly more distracted than usual, taking a bit longer to get things ready.

They've come to rely on Marilla over the past month, and today is no exception. It's still early morning, and since it feels as though they have hours before things get busy, they linger, sharing a few quick kisses and schoolgirl giggles.

"Earth to Venus," Marilla grumbles as she enters the back room.

Ange and Daisy jolt back to awareness, and both look sheepishly at her.

"We still have a café, and oh by the way, the morning rush is getting going," she says with a thin frown.

"Sorry," Ange says in a quiet voice. She hurries out to the counter.

Daisy rubs the back of her head, and chuckles. "Yeah, sorry. I'll, I guess, be in the kitchen."

 

*-*

 

Ange is sitting behind the counter, reading a magazine. It's a slow part of the day, after a fairly busy morning. When the bell jangles above the door, she has to force a smile onto her face.

It doesn't last long, as she sees Frankie strut in, followed by his two thugs.

"What do you want?"

Frankie frowns and walks over to the counter. "To speak with your boss."

"That's me," Ange says. Much as she'd like to defer whatever business he has to Daisy, she is co owner now, in both fact and law. It's time to take on this highly unpleasant responsibility.

Frankie's frown deepens, and he leans forward. "Don't toy with me, girl. I want to speak to MacBean."

"Daisy is currently unavailable. However, I have recently been elevated to a position of co-ownership."

"That so? She wants her little teahouse to fail?"

"It's a café, Frankie. And we shall not fail."

"Hm," he says, pursing his lips. "Well, as you're insistent, then I shall deal with you. I need my money."

Ange sighs. "As usual. And, as usual, the entire payment, plus extra interest, shall be paid to you, next week."

Frankie taps the counter. "Is that so?"

"Look," Ange says, frustration in her voice, "every time you come in here it's the same answer. You'll get your money, as you always do. If you'd show a little patience ...."

Scowling, Frankie swings at her. Ange sees the movement before she can react, and is barely able to brace for the blow before she feels the back of his hand impact her cheek. its strong enough to jostle her head to the side. it stings painfully, and she knows its turning bright red. It's far from the hardest hit she's ever felt.

She turns slowly back to face him, one hand coming to rest on her hurt cheek.

"Did that make you feel better?" she asks in a low whisper.

Frankie's eyes widen, and he takes a half-step backwards, clearly not expecting her reaction.

"You know," Ange continues, voice barely above a deadly whisper, "when I was a little girl, I was taught that the Lord Jesus Christ told us we ought to turn the other cheek, should we ever be struck upon one."

Ange leans forward slightly, lowering her hand, and half-turning her face.

Frankie again takes a half step backwards.

"The only thing is, I don't quite recall what one is to do if that cheek is struck as well. Would you happen to know, Frankie?"

His look of surprise and fear passes quickly. He scowls, and clenches his fists. He points an index finger in her direction. a very careful distance away from her.

"You had that coming! You need to learn how to properly speak to your betters."

"I know how to speak to my betters, _Frankie_. Now, was there anything else?"

He scowls, and for a moment it looks as though he is going to lash out again. Instead, he turns and stalks to the door. one of his thugs opens it.

Frankie stops just before reaching the door, turns, and again points at Ange. "One week! The late payment and interest, Or else I may begin to investigate other ways for you to pay me back."

He turns and walks heavily out into the street, followed a moment later by his thugs.

When they vanish, Ange takes a very deep breath, closes her eyes, and again touches her cheek. It's throbbing painfully now, sore and hot.

With the immediate threat gone, she feels her energy drain. She trembles, and her heart races. She very slowly stands up. Her knees feel like rubber, and she has to reach out to the counter steady herself. After a moment, she's able to walk over to, and through, the door to the back room. It's empty. She pauses to takes another deep breath before walking into the kitchen.

Marilla is kneading bread dough, and Daisy is washing dishes.

"Order?" Marilla asks casually.

When Ange doesn't answer, Daisy looks up. Her eyes widen, and she drops the mug she was cleaning to take a step over to Ange and wrap both arms around her. "What happened?!"

"Frankie," Ange begins.

Before she can say another word, Daisy lets her go, and storms out of the kitchen,

"Wait!" Ange cries out. She casts a fearful glance at Marilla, and they rush out to the back room, then into the café. They don't see her.

"Hit you?" Marilla asks, barely containing the rage in her voice.

"Backhanded me," Ange replies. Her voice wavers, and she feels tears well up in her eyes as her self-control begins to fray.

 

*-*

 

Daisy is out the front door of the café before Ange even realizes that she is gone. Her face is red, contorted with rage. Her fists are tightly clenched. She looks up and down the street, and sees a flash of cheap, hideous purple suit.

She turns and strides down the street, not bothering to avoid other pedestrians. She bumps into a young woman and an older man, both of whom turn to her angrily, before seeing the expression on her face. Both hurry down the road.

A group of half a dozen small boys, truant from school, stop laughing and carrying on at the sight of her, and hurry across the street, causing a motor car to stop and honk at them in annoyance.

Frankie and his thugs have stopped at a shop, one of them reaching for the door handle.

"Frankie!" she shouts.

She hears a few cries of surprise, and pedestrians and shoppers hurry out of her way.

Frankie's thugs turn to face her in surprise, standing shoulder to shoulder to block her path. Frankie squeals, and grips his walking stick, waving it in front of his face.

"Frankie, you god damned son of a bastard, if you ever lay a hand on one of my waitresses again I'll shove it so far up your ass you'll be able to pick your nose from the inside!"

A crowd begins to form around them, watching wide eyed in surprise and anticipation.

Frankie squeals again. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

One of his thugs advances on Daisy. she turns a glare on him fit to melt steel beams. the man stops dead in his tracks, and retreats backward, half a step behind his partner.

"Don't play dumb, Frankie."

Frankie's expression of fear has gone, replaced by anger. "I want my money, MacBean!"

"As always. You'll get it."

"I'd better, or I'll .…"

"You'll _what_?"

Frankie stammers for a moment, looking as though he can't decide whether to rage or be terrified.

"Fine! Next week, and the payment better all be there!"

He hesitates only another moment, before he turns and scrambles down the street. He nearly runs into a group of workmen, who scowl and raise fists at him.

The thug that had made his ill-advised advance on Daisy turns hurriedly and scrambles after his boss.

The other holds his ground for just another moment, before an amused grin crosses his lips. He lightly touches the brim of his bowler hat, nods at her, then turns to casually follow his boss and comrade.

 

*-*

 

When Daisy returns to the cafe, she finds an impatient looking young man sitting at the counter. He glares as daisy enters. "You open open or what?"

"Apologies sir, we've had something of a row. Someone will be with you shortly."

He mumbles something, but remains in his seat.

When daisy goes to the back room, she finds Ange sitting at the wooden table, holding a towel against her injured cheek. Presumably it holds ice. Marilla is hovering over her, one hand on one of Ange's shoulders, the other smoothing back Ange's hair.

As soon as daisy enters, Ange rises to her feet, wrapping her arms around Daisy, and burying her face into her chest. Her ice pack lies forgotten on the table.

"Christ. I was afraid you'd get hurt,"

" _You_ were afraid ... look, it's alright now."

Daisy feels Ange tremble, and hears her sniffle. She can tell the girl is crying.

She glares at Marilla. "Customer out front," she grumbles.

"On it." Marilla rushes out to the café, sparing one quick concerned glance back at Ange.

Daisy strokes Ange's back, and her fingers run through her hair.

"What happened?" she asks in a calming tone.

"That bastard came in demanding his money," she says, in as calm a voice as she can manage. "I told him he would get it next week. Apparently, I was insufficiently subservient, and his fragile little ego was damaged by it. He backhanded me."

"Hard?"

Ange laughs bitterly. "With all his might, I think. And yet I've felt stronger blows from ten year old schoolgirls."

"Well, I told him he'd wind up missing any hands that he laid on you, or Marilla, so I think that's it for that."

"Daisy," Ange says with concern, "he might decide to seek judgment against you now, like he did with the laundry mill."

"Maybe. I can really pay him though."

"Daisy," Ange's voice is edged with anger, "how is it that you manage to be consistently late paying the man?"

"I," she begins. "Look, don't worry about that now."

Ange pulls away from her. Her face is red, her eyes puffy, and her cheeks stained with tears, not to mention the ugly red handprint marring one. Her eyes are narrow, her mouth drawn into a dark frown. "I was struck because you are incapable of honoring your debts to that man," she snaps.

Daisy blinks in surprise, nearly taking a step backwards.

"I," Ange says, her anger instantly gone. "Sorry," she says, her voice wavering again.

Daisy walks back over to her, and Ange again collapses into her arms.

"It's alright, love. It's alright. You have every reason to be upset."

Ange sniffles, and cuddles just a bit closer.

"I'll figure something out."

" _We_ will," Ange replies.

 

*-*

 

For most of the remaining day, Ange stays in the kitchen. She offers, several times, to help out in front, but Daisy denies her each time.

"Just for now love," she says in as calm a voice as she can manage.

"As though you're any calmer," Ange grumbles. She's preparing bread.

"You knead that dough any harder and it's liable to turn back to flour."

Ange frowns. "I suppose that I remain somewhat put out."

"A little."

Ange relents, again.

It's late during the teatime rush when Marilla finally offers to take over for Ange, and when she comes out to the counter, Daisy doesn't say anything.

 

*-*

 

It's a rough night for both Daisy and Ange. They both have a great deal of pent up frustration and anger, and use alcohol as a means to avoid taking it out on each other. After more drinks than they ought to have had, they are able to find some measure of peace and comfort in each others' arms.

The alarm clock jolts Ange out of a dreamless sleep, and she glares at it, considering hurling it across the room.

Daisy reaches out to turn it off before the younger girl is able to.

"Morning," Daisy yawns.

"Mm," Ange mumbles.

"You alright?"

"Yes, Daisy. I am fine."

Though her tone suggests otherwise, Ange leans over to kiss Daisy's lips.

They get up and begin to prepare for the day.

 

*-*

 

When Daisy pulls up the shutter and opens the front door that morning, she begins saying her greeting by reflex.

But, no one comes in.

Confused, she looks out into the dimly lit street. It's empty, apart from a few pedestrians and a taxi cab.

She pauses for a moment, glancing at the morning paper, then at the table the old couple would always sit at.

There's nothing really she can do. She doesn't know anything about them. She doesn't even know their names.

She sighs, and goes back behind the counter.

After a moment, Ange comes out into the café, also looking confused.

"No order?"

"Apparently not," Daisy says quietly.

Ange frowns, looking out into the empty café.  "I hope they're alright."

"Me too."

The old couple never return, and neither Ange nor Dorothy ever find out what happened to them.

 

*-*

 

The day isn't especially busy, but not slow enough to give them time to dwell on the other day's events.

It's the slow part of the morning, and Ange is once more sitting alone at the counter. She is reading her magazine. Her cheeks have returned to their natural healthy rose hue.

The bell jangles, and Ange hears an unfamiliar girls voice. "... nice looking place, I am sure it's fine!"

She looks up with a smile, which quickly becomes forced. The girl is about Ange's age, with shoulder length blonde hair. She doesn't recognize her.

But, the young, bespectacled man she is dragging into the café is all too familiar to her.

"Welcome," she finally says.

"Ah. Um. Hello. Again," the man stammers, pulling a hat off his head and gripping the brim with his free hand.

The girl frowns at him, but walks up to the counter, dragging him forward.

"Hello Eric," Ange says with forced politeness.

The girl blinks in surprise and looks at Eric. "Oh! You know her?"

"Um, this is Ange le Carré. Remember, I told you about her?"

The girl blinks, and nods slowly. "Oh, right. That girl you dated a few months ago."

Ange keeps the smile on her face with increasing difficulty. "Something like that. So, Eric. Introduce me to your ... girl?"

Eric blushes, and she looks confused.

"I'm Amy. Didn't he tell you about me?"

"I'm sorry, but somehow he never mentioned you."

Amy frowns very heavily, and glares at Eric.

He clears his throat. "It ... never came up, no. I intended to tell her about you."

"You certainly would have had to sooner or later," Ange says, her tone uncharitably tinged with amusement.

Amy shakes her head, and looks back at Ange. "Brothers!"

Ange blinks. "Oh! You're his sister."  
"Well, yes! What did you think, that we were _dating_?"

Ange decides to not answer the question. "So, would you like anything?"

Amy's expression instantly softens into an easy smile. "Oh, yes. Darjeeling oolong, please."

"Of course. Eric?"

"Oh. Well, espresso."

"Of course. And anything to eat?"

"I simply couldn't," Amy says seriously.

Ange smiles. "Well, it is up to you, but I do recommend you look at our display cabinet."

"No," Amy says in a final sounding voice. "If I do that then I will be tempted, and ... well, I must mind my weight."

"To be honest, you appear quite fit."

Amy's smile widens. "Thank you! But, that is only because I eat healthy foods, without excess sugar, salt or fat. I am a dancer, you see."

"Oh, really? What sort of dance?"

"Ballet," Amy replies.

"She has an audition soon with the Royal Ballet," Eric says proudly.

Amy blushes, and her smile turns sheepish. "Eric, please!"

Ange grins. "Well, I shall have your tea brought out to you soon. Eric, would you care for anything?"

"Um, you have fresh-baked bread?"

"Naturally. Butter or marmalade?"

"Butter, please."

Ange hurries back to the kitchen, where Daisy is mixing dough for some pastry.

"Order?"

"One bread with butter, and a Darjeeling oolong."

"Be right out."

Ange walks back out, just in time for Marilla to arrive, back from taking a paycheck to the bank.

She smiles, and grabs an apron. "Love having money, even if most of it's spent already. Did I miss anything?"

"Not especially," Ange says.

"Need me out front?"

"I have things covered for now. See if Daisy needs you."

"Got it."

Ange heads back out to the cafe. Eric and Amy have taken a seat at a table, and are chatting. Well, Amy is chatting, Eric is listening intently, without much chance to say anything.

Ange smiles, and begins to work on his espresso. About the time she finishes, Daisy comes out with a cup of tea and a plate of buttered bread.

She sees Eric and grins widely. "I see your boyfriend has returned. With a girl of his own, no less!"

Ange sighs. "Daisy, please? He and I went on two dates, and that is his sister, Amy."

"Mm hm. Need me to take things out to them?"

"I'd rather you didn't," Ange says in a slightly exasperated tone.

Daisy laughs, and sets the tray down on the counter,  


*-*

 

A few days pass, and routine settles in once more. Daisy closes the shop up after teatime on one slow Saturday. Ange and Marilla dutifully straighten the place, while Daisy heads out.

"Wait for me to come back," she says cryptically.

They're in the back room, sitting by the wooden table, when Daisy returns some time later. Her father follows along behind her, with a wide grin that widens even further when he sees Marilla.

"Oh, so you've found me another pretty girl, Daisy?"

Marilla frowns, and her fists clench.

"Dad, behave yourself. This is Marilla, my new waitress."

"Quite a sight for sore eyes," he says, bowing sloppily in her direction.

Ange and Daisy both roll their eyes.

"Its a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr MacBean," Marilla says with forced politeness.

"Please, call me Danny! Everyone does, or at least every pretty girl does."

"Dad, knock it off."

"Sorry, sorry. Alright, so what's this about a steam engine?"

Ange and Marilla share a curious glance.

"Espresso machine, dad. I want the steam release valve modified so it can be used to steam milk."

"Mm hm. Yes, alright. Well, I'll need some tools."

"Sure, I'll bring some down. Ange, Marilla, show dad the machine. Oh, and dad They both hit, and hard, so keep your hand to yourself."

Danny laughs, holding up the arm that terminates in a hook. "Oh, don't worry, I know the consequences."

Daisy shakes her head and leaves for the flat.

"This way, Mr MacBean," Ange says opening the door to the café.

"Danny!" he insists as he walks through. "Call me Danny!"

Marilla glances at Ange, then follows Danny into the cafe.

"You know how I lost this hand?" He says to Marilla with a grin.

"I cannot imagine," Marilla answers.

"It was in Flanders, during the war, A whole division of French infantry surprised my squad! My captain ordered a retreat, but there we so many of them! I, and I alone, stayed behind to man the Maxim gun, to cover my comrades' retreat. I was surrounded on all sides! Every bullet I fired mowed down a Frenchman, but another hundred surged forward to take his place. I fought valiantly until I had fired every bullet that I had. Steeling myself to death, I then started to swing the machine gun! And then, when all seemed lost, our cavalry arrived! Riding up over the hills, red coats flashing, banners waving, swords shining. I rose a cheer, raising my arms up into the air in triumph. Only to have a French bastard shoot it clean off my wrist!"

"Dad, you are so full of it," Daisy says in exasperation. She walks in through the back door carrying a small metal box,

Danny laughs. "I may be exaggerating a little."

"Yeah, like the part where you were in the war?"

Danny shrugs, still grinning. "Just a little harmless fiction."

"Anyway," Daisy says with a sigh, "this is it."

"Hm. Alright. Angie, if you'll help out?"

"Oh," Ange says, slightly surprised. "Sure. What do you need?"

"Take that toolbox, get it open, and hand me the tools I ask for."

Marilla shakes her head. "Anyone want anything from the kitchen?"

"Coffee," Danny says with a wink.

"Sure, can do," she replies.

"Make it two," Ange says.

"Three," Daisy says as well.

"Alright, four coffees then."

She leaves, and Danny gets the casing removed from the espresso machine, with Ange's help. He pokes around in the interior, mumbling and humming, then finally sighs, and shakes his head.

"Well," he grumbles, "I can't make heads nor tails of it."

Daisy sighs, and covers her face with her hands.

Ange frowns and stands on her tip-toes, looking into the innards of the machine. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin's wrong," he says, "just, this Italian stuff? Never worked with it. Dunno how all these pipes are meant to hook up. I figure, I start messing with it, I'm liable to muck it up, and you'll get steam pourin' into your coffee beans, and hot water gushin' out of the steam valve."

"That," Daisy says quietly, "would be bad."

"Yeah," Danny agrees. He coughs, and starts to put the casing in place, with Ange helping. "Sorry, Daisy. I'd do it if I could."

She shakes her head. "It's fine, dad. I mean, it was worth a shot."

Danny fits everything back in place, and secures it with screws.

Marilla walks out through the door to the back room, carrying a tray with four mugs of coffee. "How's it going?"

"It ain't," Danny grumbles, tightening the last screw.

"Sorry to hear that. Well, here's the coffee, fresh from the siphon."

Danny settles down on a stool and tosses his screwdriver onto the countertop. "Thanks."

Marilla smiles, and places a cup in front of him, while Ange and Daisy each grab cups as well.

"Well," Danny says after taking a sip. "I can ask around. I still keep in contact with a couple old chums of mine from back in the day. Maybe one of them can help you."

"Thanks, dad. You don't have to put too much into it though. I've made it this far without, I can go another few years,"

*-*

 

Ange sits on the sofa, wearing her light green pyjama top. Silver-rimmed reading glasses are perched on her nose. Green cloth-bound books sit in a pile on one side of the coffee table, and another one is open in front of her. She holds a spiral bound notebook in one hand, and absently twirls a pencil in the fingers of the other.

Daisy, in her purple pyjama top, pads over to her and leans close. Ange absently accepts a kiss from her girlfriend, before leaning forward and squinting at the open book

Daisy sighs and sits next to her. "How's it going?"

Ange sets her notebook and pencil down, and turns to daisy with a frown. "Devastating."

Daisy blinks and fidgets. "Pardon?"

"I cannot imagine how this café has remained in business for so long."

Daisy's cheeks heat up, and she looks down at the open book. "It's always done alright. I really do make money from my customers."

Ange sighs. "That isn't enough. Daisy, the books show a distinct, and troubling, cycle of loan and debt."

"Huh?"

"You began by taking a loan from that rat bastard Frankie."

"Had to."

"Right. And naturally enough, once you had established your account with the bank, and had built up a sizable credit with them, you proceeded to take out a loan from them, much of which you used to partly pay back Frankie."

"Sure?"

"You floated that loan just as long as you could, until several payments came due with interest. Unlike Frankie, who could in theory go to court to find judgment against you, the bank could very well close out your account, and foreclose your business."

Daisy looks down at her feet.

"So, you decided it was necessary to take out a larger loan, from Frankie."

"I had to keep the café open. I mean, I couldn't just go to another bank, you know?"

"Daisy, this cycle continues to the present day. You are, in the truest sense of the phrase, robbing Peter to pay Paul."

Daisy clears her throat. "It's been working so far."

"So far? Daisy, its getting worse and not better. If this continues, you will find yourself unable to make your loan payments. You will loose this café, this building, to either the bank, or to Frankie, or perhaps even to both. You will be without a position, without a home, and without recourse."

Daisy frowns. "So what d'you think I ought to do?"

"I have made a budget," she says, picking up her notebook. "I have listed last year's income and expenses, examined them, and found unnecessary expense that can be reduced or eliminated."

"Oh, is that so? Tell me, did you learn accounting in your primary schooling at the orphanage, or did your Fagin teach it to you?"

Ange smiles, an expression that immediately makes Daisy's stomach flip.

"Yes, you are quite right. I had none of your advantages growing up, such as being raised by a drunken cripple, nor did I receive three years' apprenticeship kneading bread dough. I don't know what came over me."

Daisy turns several shades of red, and looks at the coffee table, then back at her feet. "Sorry."

"Now," Ange says firmly, "if you will kindly listen to my proposal? I am trying to save our business, and therefore our asses,"

Daisy takes a deep breath, and nods.

"Good. Now, there is very little we can do in regards to the café. As you say, the income is considerable. I have broken down our expenses: coffee, tea, ingredients, my former wages, which are comparable to Marilla's current pay, water, gas and electricity, and cooling fluid for the walk-in freezer. We cannot reduce our expenses in coffee or tea. We might as well give up and close the café."

"Yeah."

"Ingredients are mostly reasonable, though I do believe we can source slightly cheaper flour and butter."

"I disagree, but ... if those numbers are right, it doesn't save much anyway."

"Indeed not. I cannot and will not lower Marilla's salary."

"Fair enough."

"Now, water and gas we can do little about. Gas is a necessity for heating, lighting, and baking, and water is just as vital. Our electric bill is nearly non-existent, and mostly goes to the machinery to operate the freezer. I do believe, however, that you might look into replacing the gas lighting with electric."

"Already did, a few months before you started. It'd cost too much to wire the place up, so we wouldn't save anything."

"Understood. In the long run it may well be worth it though. Electricity is declining in cost, whereas gas is not."

"Yeah."

"Now, we can save money by setting the thermometer in the freezer to a higher temperature. The bread and pastries would still be preserved overnight, and other perishable ingredients would be mostly unharmed. Or, we can make greater use of far less expensive ice boxes. we have one already in the kitchen."

"Right. Still ... secret weapon. I don't want to give that up."

"I understand that, but if we lose the café, then it will be cold comfort. If you will pardon the pun."

Daisy nods slowly.

"So much for the business side. Now, personal expenses."

Daisy winces. "I mean, we are living for two."

"Yes, that is quite true. Now, I've broken down our expenses. Please note, this eats directly into our profits. You do not pay either of us even a token wage. There is no limit, as it stands, to what we may skim off for personal reasons."

"Yeah."

"Again, I've itemized everything: food, coffee, transportation .…"

"Transportation?"

"Cab, trolley, Underground."

"Oh, fares."

"Right. Alcohol, and luxuries are the last two."

"Wait ... luxuries? Where's our clothing expenses?"

"In luxuries. Daisy, it is cheaper to mend clothing than to replace it, Therefore I am considering purchase of new clothing a luxury."

"I disagree with that assessment."

"Deal with it, for now."

Daisy frowns, but doesn't say more.

"We spend quite little on food. Mostly that is because you purchase cheap slices of meat from a deli, and otherwise scavenge leftovers from the café."

"Yeah."

"Same with coffee. I had originally labeled this 'coffee and tea' before I realized that we do not drink tea. We do not drink tea on breaks, nor do we drink tea on our own time. Quite American of us, I must say."

This draws a chuckle from Daisy.

"We rarely use transportation, since we don't go far. Walking is still free at least, so this is a good thing. Luxury expenses are too high, frankly. As I said before, we ought to repair and mend, not replace, our clothing. Also, while I almost do not want to mention it, the amount we paid for our Christmas, New Years, and Valentine's Day celebrations was unreasonable."

"Ange .…"

"I am tempted to take that diamond necklace to a pawnbroker that I know of down in Whitechapel. I can easily recover a quarter, or more, of the price."

"Ange! Dammit, you're not even supposed to know how much I spent on that."

"Still, it is an expense, one that takes money away from the business and loan payments."

Daisy frowns. "The bank didn't really note that expense though. They couldn't have."

"I have extrapolated from funds withdrawn from the account at various times, so while 'diamond necklace to woo Ange' is not explicitly noted, it's obvious enough."

Daisy sighs.

"Now, the final category is alcohol."

"Don't take my booze away," Daisy grumbles, her eyes narrowing.

"Daisy, your alcohol expenditure can generously be called _obscene_."

"You suddenly backing the Temperance League?"

"No, of course not. I quite enjoy a drink from time to time myself. Valentine's Day certainly would not have gone as it had without it."

Daisy grins sheepishly.

"Regardless," Ange says, despite a growing blush, "we spend far, far too much on alcohol. The price of Scotch is such that it ought to be a criminal offense. Whisky is less expensive, but barely. Bourbon's price is unstable, due to excise and import taxes, and an uncertain political climate in America. I have heard they are considering outlawing alcohol entirely, which at best would make the price unreasonable, if it didn't render it entirely unavailable."

"So ... what do you suggest?"

"Find a less expensive, locally produced whisky, and we buy somewhere in the area of half as much. We can buy far less expensive ale for daily drinking, and save the whisky for nicer occasions."

Daisy sighs. "I guess that wouldn't be so bad. I mean, I'm not quitting."

"You may have little choice. We will be lucky to have even as much money as your father does currently, if things go poorly."

"I ... yeah. I guess you're right."

"I am, yes. Daisy, I am not trying to impose morality on you. I am not trying to ruin your fun. I am trying to preserve _our_ livelihood."

Daisy nods. "Alright. I mean ... we can try it this way."

"Our first priority must be to pay off Frankie. i will not be slapped by that bastard a second time, and should it happen, either he or I shall wake up in a hospital bed. If at all."

"Ange,,,,"

"I will _not_ tolerate being under his thumb one moment longer than is absolutely necessary. We pay him off. If we must risk floating a loan with the bank, so be it."


	11. Chapter Ten

There are many places Ange would rather be just now. Waiting on tables, or baking bread. Lazing with Daisy in bed. Hell, pick-pocketing heavily-armed security guards, or dodging runaway locomotives.

But, this is something she must do, so she is here. She clenches her hand into a fist, raises it, and knocks on the door.

"Come in."

She hesitates just one moment, before turning the knob, and stepping through.

It leads to a small office, with cheap furniture. Frankie sits behind a cheap pine desk, wearing an equally cheap suit. He scowls.

"You? Come to grovel at my feet in apology? Or have you finally realized how pathetic that pub you work in really is."

"Hardly. I've come to make a loan payment."

He looks confused for a moment, and turns to look at a calendar beside his desk.

"That can't be right."

She tosses an envelope onto his desk, and crosses her arms. "Count it."

He opens the envelope, and takes out a handful of banknotes. His frown deepens, and he meticulously counts every single note.

"It's all here," he says in surprise.

"Yes. Plus, you will find that it is in fact a double payment."

"Yes. Yes, I ... I see that."

"Now," Ange says in a very serious voice, "you will write a receipt for me. In my presence. You will carefully note every last farthing that I've paid, sign it, and date it."

Frankie blinks, still clearly off-balance. "Oh. Yes. Yes, of course."

He hurriedly writes out the amount paid, noting that it is a full double payment, then notes today's date. He goes even farther, noting the date the payment would be due, and, again, that this is a double payment. He then signs it, and hands it to Ange.

She looks it over carefully, then sets it down on his desk.

"Is there a problem?" he asks.

"I require a pen."

"Oh. Yes." He fumbles for just a moment, then passes her his fountain pen. She signs and dates the receipt as well, then folds it and places it in her handbag. Along with Frankie's pen.

He blinks. "I ... that was my pen?"

"Was it?" Ange asks. She doesn't fish it back out.

He gapes at her, and clenches his fists. "I suppose," he says in a quiet voice, "that you may have it."

"Oh. Well, I have been in want of a pen for some time. Thank you, Frankie."

She does pull a shilling out of her purse, and tosses it onto his desk. "That should more than cover it, I think?"

Frankie scowls at the coin. "Is there anything else _ma'am_?"

"No, that should suffice for now. I'll see you next month, Frankie."

"I look forward to it," he mutters.

 

*-*

 

Daisy is a nervous wreck most of the day. Marilla works the counter serving customers, while she spends most of the time in the kitchen, fretting. From time to time, she glances at the clock in the back room, muttering to herself.

A little after lunch, she comes out to the cafe, and paces over to Marilla.

"You suppose she's alright?"

Marilla sighs. "For the third time, yes. She's fine."

Daisy shakes her head, and paces to the door to the back room, before stopping and pacing back. "I shouldn't have let her go alone. What if he tries something?"

"Then Ange kicks his arse."

Daisy paces back to the door again, then stops. "And then his thugs get involved."

"Daisy, will you please .…"

She is interrupted by the door to the back room opening. Ange peeks in, and is immediately glomped by Daisy.

"Oh thank Christ! Are you alright? Did he try anything? Is everything alright?"

"Daisy," Ange says in a tone of surprise, "Yes, yes. I am fine. Everything is fine. I paid him the money, and got a receipt."

Daisy takes a deep breath, but doesn't let Ange go. "Are you sure? You aren't just saying that so I won't worry?"

"It isn't having that effect on you as it is, so there'd be no point, would there?`"

Daisy finally lets Ange go. "Alright. Good. Did he say anything?"

"Well," Ange says with a grin, "he did ask for his pen back."

"Huh?"

Ange pulls the pen out her handbag, displaying it for Ange and Marilla both to see.

Marilla laughs, and Daisy blinks.

"You ... stole his pen?"

"He gave it to me, actually."

"But," Marilla said, still smiling, "you did say he wanted it back?"

"Oh, well I suppose I _did_ steal it from him at first, but he gave it to me afterward."

Daisy shakes her head. "Don't give him any excuses."

"I shall not. In fact, I shall continue to pay him early, and double. As we agreed."

 

*-*

 

On a slow Sunday, Ange closes up the café early. She and Marilla work on cleaning the café , while Daisy, whistling a care-free tune, finishes up in the kitchen.

Once they have finished, the three wait in the back room until there is a knock at the door leading out to the corridor.

Daisy opens it wearing a wide grin. "Heya guys, right on time!"

Rita and Mary Jane walk in, both smiling. Marilla hugs both of them. "Hey gals. Been a while."

"It has. Too long," Rita says.

Ange hugs both girls as well. "So, how are things?" Ange asks.

Rita smiles widely. "Quite well, thank you for asking. Mum was very understanding, and said I could take all the time I needed to find something new. And Howard ...."

Rita blushes, and Daisy smirks. "Howard?"

"Um. He is, well. Kind of my boyfriend."

Daisy giggles. "Congrats!"

"Oh. Thank you. Um. Well, he is also very supportive. He spotted an advertisement in the paper in fact, and when I replied, I was given a time to come in to take a type-writing test."

"That's great to hear," Marilla says with a smile.

"I hope it goes well for you!" Mary Jane says too.

"I hope so. I mean, I'm pretty good with a type writer, just no one gave me a chance to show it when I was looking for my first job."

"Sure, and the laundry mill didn't care about that," Marilla notes.

"Right."

"How are things with you?" Ange asks Mary Jane.

The girl sighs. "Good, I guess. I'm back in school, and its kinda hard. I have to take extra lessons to catch up, and they won't let me bring food into the classroom! I just get so hungry during the day."

Daisy laughs "You just have to get creative is all. If you'd like, I can make some tiny bread loaves for you to sneak in."

Mary Jane grins widely. "Thank you, Daisy!"

Marilla frowns at this. "I don't think that would really be a great idea."

"I'm sure its fine," Ange says offhand. "I mean, breaking the rules only matters if you get caught after all."

Rita and Marilla both look surprised by this, but Daisy laughs.

"Good thing you didn't lead with that line on your first day of work."

Ange grins very widely, and winks at her girlfriend.

The five head out into the street. It's spring. The sun is low enough that the buildings of London cast long shadows and there's a cool breeze. It feels nice after the bitter cold winter.

They go first to a nice restaurant, and have a pleasant hot meal.

"Order what you'd like," Ange says, though Marilla cant help but see how carefully she notes all of the prices.

Ange also pays, and Daisy seems quite content to let her.

Rita and Mary Jane glance at Marilla, who simply shrugs it off.

They go next to The Electrotheatre, where they are showing some rather absurd American comedy pictures, incongruously paired with an Italian epic version of Dante's _Inferno_ _._

Marilla, Mary Jane, and Rita all keep their eyes on the screen.

Ange makes a diligent effort to watch the pictures, but Daisy has an entirely different idea.

As the first of the comedies starts, she leans in and lightly kisses Ange's cheek, her hands wandering in rather inappropriate ways.

"Stop it," Ange whispers.

"Nope," Daisy says teasingly. "The picture is boring, and since everyone is looking at it ...."

She lightly nibbles the nape of Ange's neck, and she squeals. Fortunately for her, the audience around them laughs at that moment at some slapstick on the screen, so no one notices.

"Daisy!" Ange hisses.

"What?" she answers with a mischievous grin.

"I am trying to watch the picture."

"Bah! This is much more fun!"

"If you just wanted to make out, we ought to have stayed home."

"That's what I was saying the whole time," Daisy says, still teasing.

Ange sighs. "You are liable to get us," her words are interrupted by a sensation that draws a great deal of heat to her cheeks, and prompts her to slap Daisy's shoulder a bit harder than she ought.

She hears a man clear his throat behind her, and Ange turns sheepishly to see an usher, his arms crossed in front of his chest, standing behind her.

"Sorry," she whispers, then turns back to the screen.

When the man moves on, Daisy giggles.

"Just you wait til we get home," Ange mutters.

"Promises, promises," Daisy grins.

Marilla, Rita, and Mary Jane, all with bright red faces, force themselves with some effort to keep their attention on the screen.

 

*-*

 

"What a great movie!" Daisy announces loudly as they leave the theater.

"You hardly watched any of it," Rita says in surprise.

"Just the good bits," Daisy says with a grin.

"Oh, the powerful images of damned souls?" Marilla offers.

"Or," Ange says, "the visual symbolism?"

"Nah," Daisy smirks, "all the bare titties."

Rita and Marilla both blush at this, and Ange frowns.

"I was surprised at that," Mary Jane says seriously. "I mean, I never thought they'd actually show that kind of thing in a moving picture."

Marilla, Rita, and Ange all look at Mary Jane with wide eyes.

Daisy grins, and puts her arm over Mary Jane's shoulder. "I know what you mean. I wish they'd show that more often."

Mary Jane nods slowly. "I think you're right. I mean, don't they hang paintings like that in the museum all the time? Why would they suddenly not like it in a _moving_ picture."

Daisy laughs. "Simply boggles the mind."

"Boggles," Mary Jane says slowly. She grins. "Yes, that is the exact word for it. It is boggling."

Daisy giggles.

Ange frowns as her cheeks redden in discomfort at Daisy's reaction.

 

*-*

 

Summer approaches, and the café's business increases slightly. As the days get longer and warmer, the teatime rush gets busier, and more customers stay in the place later. Daisy begins to offer iced tea on the menu, anticipating a decrease in the number of people who will want to have a hot drink.

The last day of schooling for the Academy sees a large group of students, and as Daisy had predicted, is quite busy.

Ange is working the tables, taking and delivering orders. She doesn't even notice when Lily and her two friends come in, but she smiles when she gets to them.

"Good afternoon! It's nice to see you back."

"Thank you," Lily replies earnestly.

"I'm going to miss this café over the summer," the green haired girl says.

"Oh, are you returning home?"

"Yes," she replies, "to Cardiff."

"Oh, I didn't know you were Welsh."

She blushes and shrugs. "Well ... I mean, I don't really tell anyone. It's not like I am really _Welsh_ Welsh, you know? Just live there. Right?"

"So, what would you like?" Ange asks, rather than pressing the matter further.

"Oh, you have so many wonderful things," the other girl says. "I just can't decide."

"Darjeeling for me," the green haired girl says, "and a raspberry tart."

" _Oi_ , partner?!" Daisy calls out at the counter.

Ange sighs. "Just a moment," she calls out with a glance back to Daisy. Then to the three girls she says, "I am sorry."

"No, were sorry, we've delayed you," Lily says. "I shall have espresso and a slice of peach pie."

"Black tea, and lemon cream pie," the other girl says.

"Right." Ange smiles, though the look is harried and weary. She trots back to the counter.

"Get that order to Marilla, quick. No time to chat."

"Sorry _boss_ ," Ange says in a slightly sarcastic tone.

Daisy ignores it, focusing instead on making espresso.

*-*

 

For the most part, summer is just another time of the year. It's hot and muggy, and the sun stays up far too long. At least in Ange's opinion. It's nearly a year since she started working at the café, and nearly ten since she met, and lost, Charlotte.

She has pangs of nostalgia, and pays a visit to the old Royal Palace as near to the tenth anniversary of that fateful day as she is able. It's abandoned, at least by the Royal Family. Apparently, there are rumors that it is to become a museum, but for now it's closed off. Even the old breach in the wall has been repaired. Not that she has any desire to enter the grounds, even if she could fit through.

She spends some time there, wandering the perimeter, standing at the gate, and gazing at the parts of the towers and manor house visible above the wall. For a brief moment, she considers traveling to the newer palace, where the Royal Family has taken up residence. She doesn't know if Charlotte would be there. The last she read in the newspaper, Charlotte had been seen in Monaco with the Crown Prince and his wife. Then again, it isn't as though she could gain access to her even if she could catch a glimpse of her.

Instead, she returns to the flat and spends a quiet evening with Daisy.

 

*-*

 

It's a year since Ange started working at the café. Daisy shuts the alarm off well before the time it's supposed to ring. Before getting ready for the day, the two spend some quality time together, celebrating both the anniversary and Ange's birthday.

"I'd shut the place down," Daisy comments as they dry off from their shower, "but the Academy students are getting back into town, so It'd be a bad idea."

"Of course. It would feel wrong celebrating a year of work at the café by not working," Ange replies. Her tone is just slightly sarcastic, and Daisy laughs.

"Maybe next year, sweetie."

"For my eighteenth birthday. Yes, a quiet day away from the café would be a nice gift."

"Assuming you'll still be here next year that is," Daisy replies with a smirk.

"Where else would I be?" Ange asks.

Daisy's expression falters for just a moment. Ange notices, and quickly changes the subject.

"So, our finances are better than ever. I estimate another four payments to Frankie will settle that debt entirely."

"Yeah," Daisy says, hurrying out of the bathroom. "Yeah, that's good."

Ange sighs, hanging up her towel, before padding out to join Daisy in the bedroom. She wraps her arms around a half-dressed Daisy, hugging her from behind and kissing her between her shoulders.

"I do love you, Daisy."

"Yeah, I know. Love you too."

Ange releases her, only to have Daisy turn and steal a kiss. It lingers.

They end up lingering longer than they ought, and meet a somewhat annoyed looking Marilla at the bottom of the stairs.

 

*-*

 

The café is busy, Marilla is working the counter making espresso and taking orders of customers that come up to it.

Ange is working the tables. she is behind the counter after delivering coffee and pastries to a table, when she hears the bell ring above the door.

"... wish she could have come along too," she hears an unfamiliar girls voice say.

She glances up, and sees Lily, accompanied by a petite girl with orange-brown hair in a distinctive, twin bun style. If she hadn't been wearing a Queen's Mayfair uniform, Ange would never have guessed she was a secondary school student.

It's too noisy for her to use the usual introduction for them, or to hear what Lily says in response to the girl. However, they sit at an empty table.

Ange smiles, and grabs her notebook. She walks out to the table.

"Good afternoon," she says.

Lily looks up at her with a wide smile. "Oh, hello Miss Ange! Nice to see you again."

"It is a pleasure to see you again."

Ange also looks, with a smile, to the other girl.

"This," Lily says, "is Beatrice. I've finally managed to drag her here."

The younger girl, Beatrice, smiles widely. "I've heard a lot about this establishment."

"All good, I hope?" Ange says with a grin.

"Of course," Beatrice responds.

"Well, what would you like?"

Beatrice casts a glance to the counter, where Marilla is making espresso. Ange sees the look.

"Would you like an espresso, ma'am?"

"Hm? oh, no. I am just surprised you have a machine here, is all. I believe that I shall have Lapsang Souchong. Single seeped is fine. Oh, and if you have honey, I should like some."

"We do, yes. Milk?"

"If you can bring some out?"

Ange smiles. "Of course. Miss Lily?"

"Oh, I believe I'll take an espresso, and please send out sugar and milk for mine as well."

"Right. Would you care for anything to eat?"

"Have you red velvet cake?" Beatrice asks.

Ange's grin widens. "We have. It's a particular specialty of ours in fact."

Beatrice smiles. "I would like a slice, then."

"And for you?" she asks Lily.

"Hm. What pies have you today?"

"Apple, cherry, peach, and rhubarb."

Beatrice makes a face at the last flavor, but says nothing.

"I shall have a slice of cherry pie, then."

"I'll have it right out to you, ladies."

 

*-*

 

The crowd has thinned out some by the time lily and Beatrice walk up to the counter. Ange rings up their order on the cash register, and quotes a price.

"Was everything to your liking?"

Lily pays and nods. "It was good."

"Splendid I would say," Beatrice replies.

Ange beams. "I'm pleased to hear that."

"I intend to return, with a friend."

Ange nods. "Please do! we love having new customers."


	12. Chapter Eleven

It's nearly teatime, and Ange sits behind the counter. she has a magazine open n front of her, and shes been skimming the articles. she has made a mental note to copy down an interesting biscuit recipe she'd like to try, when she has the chance.

When the doorbell rings, she hastily closes the magazine and tosses it under the counter.

"Good afternoon," she begins as she looks up.

She sees Beatrice in her school uniform, and another, taller girl enter alongside her. it takes her a moment, but when she realizes who the older girl is, her cheeks turn red. it takes every ounce of self control not to shout, or flee to the back room, or faint, or ... or.

"Um," she stammers.

"Good afternoon," the young woman says, with a thin smile. she has grey hair in an asymmetrical style, braided on the right hand side, with a black ribbon securing it in place.

"Welcome to Café MacBean," Ange finally says, regaining some measure of composure.

The two walk over to the counter. Ange's heart is racing, but she remains calm. She has a job to do, and it is just possible she doesn't recognize her. Or, just maybe, she herself is mistaken.

"Your café comes highly recommended," the older girl says casually.

Beatrice smiles, though she has a curious look on her face.

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you've come. You're quite welcome. Um. I mean, what can I get for you?"

"You have an espresso machine. It is quite rare to find them in Albion. The only other two of which I am aware are in Rouen and Bordeaux."

"Well," Ange says with a smile, "we consider it our secret weapon."

"Then I shall have one espresso, provided you make it."

Beatrice looks between Ange and the older girl with an uncertain, vaguely offended look. She clears her throat, and Ange looks at her in surprise.

"Um, I should like Lapsang Souchong, and a slice of red velvet cake."

"Oh. Yes, of course ma'am." She turns to the other girl. "And for you, ma'am?"

"Charlotte," she replies.

"Oh, I am sorry," Ange says with genuine regret, "we haven't any charlotte prepared today."

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Ange realizes her mistake, and turns bright red.

A highly amused smile crosses the other girls lips. "No, that is my name. Charlotte."

Beatrice looks at Charlotte in undisguised amazement.

"Oh," Ange splutters. "Yes. Yes, of course it is. I mean, how could anyone from Albion fail to recognize ...."

Charlotte's smile widens further. "So you do recognize me? I had wondered. Well, do not let that trouble you. Do your best, without any other regard."

"Yes," Ange nods hurriedly. "Yes, of course ma'am."

Before Ange can embarrass herself further, she retreats rapidly into the back room. She pauses there a moment, taking a very deep breath. then she walks into the kitchen.

Marilla, who is cleaning dishes, looks up at her with an exhausted smile. It fades into a look of concern. "Is everything alright?"

  
"Everything is fine. Yes. yes, it is all fine. I need a Louschong Seichong. Um."

"Lapsang Souchong?"

Ange nods. "That, yes."

"With anything?"

"Oh. Well, this is a returning customer, who always requests honey, and milk beside."

"Got it. You sure you're alright?"

"Yes. Though ... I may have seen a ghost."

Marilla looks confused, but before she can question her further, Ange rushes back to the café.

"... really quite talented, Highness. I cannot imagine what has got into her today," she hears Beatrice say, in a slightly too loud whisper.

"Um. Your tea will be out presently."

Beatrice looks at her uncertainly. "Thank you."

"Espresso, yes?"

Charlotte nods, with a smile. "Yes. One, please."

"Right."

She takes another deep breath, and goes through her routine. she is nervous for the first time since ... well, since she first made an espresso for a customer. she manages to do everything flawlessly, with extra flair, even giving Charlotte a broad grin and a wink as she sets the steaming mug of coffee in front of her.

Ange is gratified to see the princess blush, if lightly.

"Um," Beatrice says, a touch of worry in her voice, "Perhaps we ought to find a table, Highness?"

"Hm?" Charlotte manages to look away from Ange, and nods. "Yes. Yes, that is a good idea."

"I'll bring your things to you," Ange says, hastily.

"Thank you," Charlotte says.

They stand and wander over to a table, Beatrice glancing over her shoulder at Ange with a look of uncertain confusion.

At that moment, Marilla comes out with a tray holding a teacup and a small pitcher of milk.

"Thank you Marilla, I shall deliver it."

"Oh," Marilla says. she sets the tray on the counter, and glances at Charlotte and Beatrice. If she recognizes the Princess, she neither reacts, nor says anything. "Need anything else?"

"No, I'm good, thank you."

Marilla starts back to the kitchen. "Starting bread, so you know."

"Alright."

Ange places Charlotte's espresso, and the slice of cake, on the tray, then hurries it out to the table.

"Your drinks, and red velvet cake," she says as she sets them down onto the table. Her eyes widen in shock, and she turns to Charlotte. "I am sorry, I forgot to take your food order!"

"Yes, you did at that," the Princess says in obvious amusement. "As it happens, I believe that I should like a raspberry tart. If you have such a thing."

"Yes, of course. I shall bring it out to you."

She rushes behind the counter, grabs a plate of tart, and then hurries it out to the table.

"So, may I ask you a question?" Charlotte says, casually.

"Um, yes ma'am?"

"How long have you worked here?"

"Oh, its been a little more than a year."

Charlotte nods. "It is a pity I hadn't found this place sooner. Your espresso is quite good, though I am surprised you don't offer caffé latte."

"Well," Ange says, "we haven't an easy means to heat the milk. Not quickly."

"You are aware that milk can be steamed?"

"Well, yes."

"And," Beatrice says, "an espresso machine is basically a steam engine."

"That's true," Ange says, with a smile.

Charlotte takes a bite of tart, and nods. "This is good," she says.

"Thank you. Well, do you want anything else?"

"Not at the moment, thank you," Beatrice replies politely

"Nor I," Charlotte agrees.

"Right," Ange says. she stands in place, staring at Charlotte for just a moment longer, then turns and hurries back behind the counter.

 

*-*

 

The teatime rush picks up, and through chance, Marilla is the one at the counter when the Princess and Beatrice finish. Ange is heading back toward the counter, an order scribbled on her notepad, when the two pass by.

"Oh! I hope you enjoyed your food and drinks," she says with a slightly harried smile.

"Yes," Charlotte replies, with a smile. "They were every bit as wonderful as I'd been led to believe."

"I hope you come back."

Charlotte's smile widens. "I shall indeed."

 

*-*

 

It's a week before Charlotte comes back, this time with Beatrice, Lily, and Lily's other two friends. Ange is at the counter, and it's slow enough that she can favor them with a very wide smile. "Good afternoon. Welcome to Café MacBean. How may I help you?"

"Good afternoon," Charlotte says with an equally wide smile.

The others greet her too, and they walk up to the counter.

"We've come for espresso," Lily smiles.

"And red velvet cake," Beatrice says.

"Very good. Will that be for five?"

"Four," the girl with one side bun says. "I shall have Darjeeling, and apple cobbler if you have it."

"We have indeed. Sugar and milk?"

"Yes, for our coffees," Charlotte says.

"And my tea as well. though on the side if you please."

"Alright." She smiles at Beatrice. "And you also would like espresso? Its no trouble if you'd prefer Lapsang Souchong."

"Well," Beatrice says with a thin, slightly embarrassed smile, "that is what I always order. I suppose that I should like to try your coffee this time."

"Alright. Well, I shall bring out enough milk and sugar for you all."

"Thank you," Lily says.

Ange goes to the kitchen, happy to have not embarrassed herself utterly this time.

Daisy is heating water, in anticipation of the up-coming teatime rush.

"One Darjeeling, and enough sugar and milk for five."

Daisy nods somewhat absently. "Right. Be right out with it."

Ange hesitates, looking at her for a moment, then decides to let it pass. For now. in any case. She returns to the café, and begins making espresso. The five have sat at a table, and are engaged in polite conversation.

These are the Princess' friends, Ange muses. She only knows Lily and Beatrice by name, never having caught the name of the other two. They all seem quite proper and ladylike, all wear the uniform of Queen's Mayfair Academy. They are all about her own age, with Beatrice noticeably younger.

She realizes with a start that she really doesn't know any more. Are they associated with the Royal Family? Or are they nobility? Nouveau riche? Or are they poor girls like her, who got lucky and had an opportunity to attend a good school?

The coffee spurts unevenly out of the spigots at the espresso machine, so she turns it off. Two of four cups ready, she sets them down on the counter, at just about the same time that Daisy comes out. She places the tray with the teacup, a bowl of sugar, and a pitcher of milk, on the counter, then places the two cups of espresso on it.

She looks at the table closely. "Aristocrat hour," she mutters, just loud enough for Ange to hear.

"Indeed," Ange replies vaguely. She really doesn't want to go into it right now.

If Daisy recognizes the Princess, it isn't immediately apparent. Though, she continues to stare. "Need help?"

"Well," Ange says as she tamps down coffee grounds for two more espressos, "you can pull four slices of red velvet cake, and one apple cobbler."

"Right." Daisy does so, as Ange finishes up the other two espressos.

The tray is very full, but Ange manages it, carrying it out to their table.

"Four espressos and one Darjeeling," she says as she sets the drinks down. "Four red velvet cakes, and one apple cobbler."

"This all looks so good," Lily's green-haired friend says with a wide smile.

"Thank you," Ange replies gratefully.

"No, thank _you_ ," Charlotte replies.

Ange feels her cheeks heat up, and she hastily retreats to the counter, carrying the empty tray under her arm.

Daisy is standing behind the counter, watching. She wears a thin frown, and Ange can't help but blush just a little deeper.

When she reaches her side, Daisy leans in close.

"Do I need to be concerned?"

Ange doesn't know how to answer, and sets the tray down. She begins to clean the espresso machine.

" _Oi_ , partner?"

"I ... do not know," Ange says quietly,

Daisy is silent for a moment, as she sits and watches the five eat. "Is this her first time here?"

"No. she was here once before."

"You failed to mention that."

"She is a customer, Daisy."

"Yeah. Look, the rush is about to get going, so no time right now. Focus on your job."

"Of course," Ange says evenly.

 

*-*

  
For the first time she can recall, Ange dreads the end of the day. Teatime is busy, though not unusually so, and there are enough customers to justify staying open several hours afterward.

Ange stays at the counter, busying herself with customers and their orders. She is thankful that Marilla, rather than Daisy, helps her by running the tables.

Eventually, Daisy comes out and closes up. She says no more to Ange than is necessary.

"See you tomorrow," Marilla says cheerily as she heads out.

"See you then," Ange says. Her stomach is fluttering, but she manages to keep an even expression.

"Seeya," Daisy says rather absently.

When she leaves, Daisy remains taciturn. She turns the lights off in the kitchen and back room, then locks up. She says nothing, in fact, until they are behind their closed and locked door in the flat.

"Charlotte?"

Ange winces. "Yes."

"You failed to mention that your little girl friend was the _P_ _rincess_ Charlotte."

"I ... did not expect you to believe me."

Daisy sighs, and pulls out two bottles of brown ale from the cupboard, along with two glasses.

"Well," Ange says awkwardly, "I suppose that I will get cozy."

Daisy opens her bottle of ale, sitting and pouring it into a glass. "Mm."

Ange stares at her for a moment, then goes into the room they share. It's a little more crowded now, but Ange still doesn't own much. Clothes, and two necklaces, gifts from Daisy.

She strips and slips into a thin yellow pyjama top. She pads back out to the living room and sits beside Daisy. She swallows, and decides to delay things as long as possible. She opens her ale, and pours it into a glass, then takes a slow sip.

"So what happens now?" Daisy asks.

Ange again winces. She sets her glass down, and stares at it. "I do not know. Nothing, I suppose."

"Nothing? your childhood crush waltzes into the café, and you think nothing is going to happen?"

Ange looks at Daisy, her expression serious. "She has been here twice, and has been no more than a customer each time. Besides, she has been in the company of that younger girl both times."

Daisy sips her ale, and purses her lips. "You think it's gonna stay like that?"

"I don't know."

"Figure it out. I need to know where I stand in this."

"Daisy," Ange sighs, "I do not know where _I_ stand in this."

"That so?"

"It has been ten years. She has been friendly, yes, but I do not know what she thinks, or how she feels. She may be dating that younger girl she has been with. Or, she may be engaged to a gentleman for all I know."

"That would be all over the papers, dearest."

"I suppose so."

Daisy drains her ale. "Well, I guess there isn't anything else for it right now. It bothers me, though."

"Haven't you had many boyfriends, many at the same time? It seems strange for you to be jealous."

Daisy frowns. "I gave that up when we became a couple. No boyfriends, no one-night stands, no nothing like that."

"And you expect the same from me," Ange said quietly. it wasn't a challenge, nor really a question. "No girlfriends. No _other_ girlfriends."

"Yeah."

"I," Ange begins. Her stomach is twisting into knots again, accompanied by a heavy feeling. "I shall tell her that. If it should come up."

"yeah," daisy repeats.

"I love you," Ange says in a quiet voice.

Daisy leans toward her, and they wrap their arms around one another. their lips meet, and the kiss lingers.

"Love you," Daisy whispers as it breaks.

 

*-*

 

Daisy is at the counter when the door opens. She smiles to deliver her greeting, until she sees who it is. Her smile widens.

"Well, hello there. Been a while to see either of you."

Rita and Eleanor enter together, along with a third girl. She has blonde hair and deep blue eyes. However, her skin is a deep, rich bronze hue, and her facial structure seems vaguely Indian.

"It's been a while," Eleanor says with a thin smile.

The three walk up to the counter.

"I wanted to introduce you to my two flatmates," Rita says, "but apparently you already know Eleanor."

"Yes," Eleanor. says with a nod. "Miss MacBean and I have met."

"Miss? What happened to Daisy?" the brunette says with a grin.

"Well, it has been some time, and I wasn't certain if it were appropriate."

"It is," Daisy says. "So who's your friend?"

"This is Penny," Rita says with a smile.

"We met at work," Penny explains. Her accent is entirely Albian, with perhaps a trace of Cockney.

"Oh, you got that job?" Daisy says with a widening smile.

Rita nods. "I did! Apparently, I had one of the highest scores on the typing test."

"And," Penny says with a sheepish grin, "I had one of the others."

"Huh. so they hired you both? And how do you know them, Eleanor?"

"Well, it so happens that I am their supervisor."

"Really?"

Eleanor shrugs. "It was decided that the Admiralty needed to expand its typing pool, and due to my talent and industriousness, I was placed in charge of it."

"And you all three decided to let out a flat together?"

"Yes" Eleanor nodded. "I was feeling cramped in my boarding house room, and a great opportunity came along. Thanks, in no small part, to Penny here."

"Oh," Penny says with a shake of her head and widening grin. "I really didn't have anything to do with it."

Before Daisy can ask more, Ange comes out from the back room.

"Oh, hello Ange!" Rita says happily.

Penny's eyes widen as soon as Rita says Ange's name, and she looks very carefully at the other girl. Daisy tilts her head curiously, but decides not to say anything for the moment.

"Rita! Eleanor. Its nice to see you two again. Who's your friend?"

"This is Penny," Rita says. "We're flatmates, all three of us."

"I see," Ange says.

"Well, Daisy coughs, "would you three like anything?"

"Espresso, please," Eleanor says."

"Make that two," Penny replies.

"I shall have black tea," Rita says.

"I'll bring your tea out. Would any of you like bread?" Ange asks.

"Fresh baked?" Penny asks.

Daisy sees she is still staring at Ange, though she cant quite read her expression.

"It is, yes."

Penny nods. "I shall have some."

"Butter or marmalade?"

"Marmalade, please."

"Rita? Eleanor?"

"No thank you," Eleanor says. "I fancy something sweeter."

"Me too," Rita says.

"It'll be right out, then."

Daisy begins making espresso. "So, take a look at my pastries."

Eleanor and Rita do so, and Penny watches as Daisy works the machine.

Daisy goes through her routine, including a wink at Penny. The girl smiles without a trace of embarrassment. Daisy sets the mugs of espresso on the counter.

"I'll have a raspberry cobbler," Rita says.

"I believe that I shall have a chocolate éclair."

Daisy grins. "Maybe I ought to call that the Eleanor special."

Eleanor's cheeks turn pink, but she smiles. "I am rather fond of éclairs, yes."

When Ange comes back out, Penny turns her attention back to her.

"Will you be here at the counter?"

Eleanor and Rita both take seats at stools, and nod.

"Looks like it," Penny says.

Ange smiles, and sets the plate of bread in front of her, then hands Rita her tea.

"Thank you," Penny says to her with a wide smile.

"Oh, you're quite welcome."

Ange leaves the café, going into the back room, and Penny sighs quietly.

Daisy feels a twinge of jealousy. She cleans out the espresso machine, then sits down opposite Penny.

"So," she says casually, "you were saying something about the flat?"

"Hm? Oh yes," Penny nods. "A dear friend of mine found it for me. Us. At that, she even told me about the job in the first place."

"Really? How'd this friend know about it?"

"Well," Penny says slowly, "her family is associated with the government."

"I assure you that there was no favoritism shown," Eleanor says, a touch defensively. "Penny earned her current situation."

"But this friend of yours, she helped?"

"Well, she told me about the job, no more than that. The flat though, she found for us and even helped out financially."

"Really? She must be someone special to you."

Penny's smile widens "She is very precious to me, yes."

The bell above the door jingles, forcing Daisy to turn her attention to the new customers that enter. She can't quite put the look Penny gave to Ange out of her mind, and it nags at her for the rest of the day. Even long after Eleanor, Rita, and Penny leave.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Charlotte is standing in front of her mirrored dressing table. She wears a pair of men's briefs, and is adjusting the fit of cloth wrappings around her chest.

She isn't the most developed woman in the first place, but she finds that binding her chest helps. With both the illusion, and with putting her into the correct frame of mind.

She is sufficiently used to it that, while it remains uncomfortable, it is neither painful nor distracting.

There is a knock at her door. She pads over to it, leaning in close

"Who is it?" she asks quietly.

"It's me, Your Highness."

Charlotte opens her door, just wide enough for Beatrice to slip in.

The younger girl frowns, looking distastefully at Charlotte's chest wrap.

"I don't know why you're doing this," she mutters.

Charlotte sits down at her dressing table, and Beatrice, unasked, picks up the boar bristle brush. She begins to comb Charlotte's hair back, unbraided.

"I have explained my desire for anonymity before, Beato. As a young gentleman, however slender and feminine in appearance, I have the freedom to go about London unrecognized, which I as a princess of the Royal Family would be unable to do."

"I understand that," Beatrice sighs. "Why are you doing this _today_? I thought you were going to that café?"

Charlotte pours some oil onto her hands, prompting Beatrice to wrinkle her nose. She begins to work it into her hair. "I am."

"So why do you need to be anonymous? Everyone's seen you go there before."

"Precisely. Today, I do not want to be seen going there."

Beatrice frowns. "You're going to see that waitress, aren't you?"

Charlotte's cheeks turn pink, and she looks at Beatrice in some surprise. "So I am."

"I wish you would take me with you. I like her, and I like their pastries."

"Alas, I require your services here. You must play up my illness today, going about to my teachers to collect my coursework, and fret about my well-being in a way only you can. Most importantly, you must use your wits, and special talent, to convince everyone that I am indeed ill, and not absent."

"I serve at your pleasure, Highness. Even if I don't entirely approve."

"I am glad to hear it, Beato."

Her hair slicked back, Charlotte wipes excess oil off of her hands, and moves to the edge of her bed. As Beatrice watches, she slips on a pair of black socks.

"So ... is this going to be a regular occurrence, Princess?"

Charlotte pauses for a moment, then shakes her head. "I believe not. I have matters to discuss with ... that girl. Depending upon how it goes ...."

She frowns, and slips a white shirt on over her shoulders.

"I hope all goes well then," Beatrice says with little enthusiasm.

Charlotte pulls on a pair of trousers, attaches a collar to her shirt, then returns to the dressing table to put on a thin tie.

Beatrice sits on the edge of Charlotte's bed. "You know, its truly sad that you feel you must do this."

Charlotte pauses for a moment, turning back to look at Beatrice curiously.

"I mean," Beatrice sighs, "that cross-dressing is somehow less scandalous than simply wandering around London."

Charlotte nods, and finishes with her tie. "I do not believe that it is. It simply allows me to go places that I could not otherwise."

"And that is the sad part."

Charlotte finishes with her tie, and stands. She gives Beatrice a bow, and the girl stands and curtseys in response, a reluctant grin spreading across her lips.

"Well," Charlotte says, "for what it is worth, as a Princess I can enter places other women cannot."

"Like the Duke's fancy ball? Which I would never have been able to attend without you."

"Yes, like that."

Beatrice smiles. "It was nice."

"It was. We must go dancing some time."

Beatrice's cheeks redden, and Charlotte smirks. "The question is only if you would rather be seen dancing with Princess Charlotte, or a dapper young gentleman."

"I should rather be caught dead than with any variety of gentleman."

Charlotte laughs as she shrugs into a black waistcoat. "Then you shall have a dancing date with the Princess."

Beatrice's blush deepens.

Charlotte reaches out for Beatrice, who lightly takes her hand. Charlotte bows low, her lips very nearly touching Beatrice's knuckles.

Beatrice's face is positively glowing now, and Charlotte smiles with satisfaction.

"Well," she says, "I ought to be off, while it remains dark enough to escape unnoticed."

She slips on a black frock-coat, then grabs a silk top hat and black walking stick with a silver handle.

"Au revoir, Beatrice!"

Beatrice shakes her head. "Take care, Your Highness."

 

*-*

 

It isn't her first time alone in the dark streets of London. She was strictly honest with Beatrice. In this guise, she can go places that would be closed off to her as Princess.

She passes a young gentleman walking in company with a pair of ladies. She touches the brim of her hat, and the gentleman nods in response. As she passes, she notices out of the corner of her eye that one of the two ladies spares a longer glance at her than is necessary, with a thin smile of pleasure.

Charlotte finds herself pleased at this.

Since finding Ange at Café MacBean, Charlotte has foregone these excursions. Frankly, her purpose was to find her after all. Once she found her, and took care of one other minor matter, she had no purpose for this disguise, before today.

She does enjoy the freedom. Enjoys the experience generally. There's a thrill of excitement from the taboo, and apart from the chest wrap, she does find these clothes quite comfortable. Idly, she ponders what it would take to nudge women's fashion in the direction of suits and waistcoats.

When she arrives at the café, it's just open. It's empty, as she expected it would be. She can also see, through the main window, that Ange is, indeed, the one sitting at the counter, awaiting the first customer of the morning.

She pushes the door open, pulling off her hat as the door bell chimes.

Ange looks up, and smiles. "Good morning, and welcome to ...." her words trail off, as a look of confusion crosses her face.

Charlotte grins. "Good morning."

Ange's expression rapidly turns to a wide, happy smile. "Welcome back! Would you like something, Prin ... um. How should I call you?"

Charlotte walks over to the counter, setting her hat on it, and propping the walking stick against a stool.

"I shall take an espresso, and you may call me in any manner you please."

Ange nods, and begins her work. "Would you like anything to eat?"

"I believe coffee shall do for the moment. In fact, I had hoped to have a chance to ... talk."

At that moment, Ange places the mug of coffee in front of Charlotte, and also the door to the back room opens.

Daisy walks out, and Ange looks at her uncertainly.

"Princess," Daisy says to Charlotte with a nonchalant nod. She then cups Ange's chin, raises her face, and presses her lips to Ange's in a blatant, lingering kiss.

Charlotte sips her coffee, apparently unfazed.

When the kiss breaks, Ange, blushing, glances uncertainly between Charotte and Daisy.

"You need to talk," Daisy says simply. It's a statement, not a question.

"We ... do," Ange says slowly.

"I would appreciate any time you can grant to us," Charlotte says evenly.

Daisy sits down and nods. "Take all the time you need. I have this place covered. I can get Marilla out here if I need to.

 

*-*

 

Ange isn't quite sure if she feels awkward walking with Charlotte dressed like this. They get a few looks from other passers-by, but fewer are judgmental or resentful, as happens too often when she is with Daisy. At the same time, Charlotte doesn't seem like herself, somehow.

They end up at a club in a nicer part of the city. Ange would call it a pub, except for it's exclusive clientele.

Charlotte holds the door open, gesturing Ange inside. Her cheeks turn pink, but she enters with all the grace she can manage.

Inside is a plain foyer, dominated chiefly by a counter. A man in a sharp black suit and bow-tie stands behind.

"Good afternoon, sir," he says in a clipped, formal tone.

"Good afternoon. I am a member," Charlotte says casually, pulling out a paper card and placing it on the counter. Ange is able to, just barely, supress a gasp of surprise.

"Of course," the man says, bowing his head slightly. "And the lady?"

"My guest for the morning."

The man looks Ange over, a thin frown darkening his expression. "Of course sir. You may find any table you would like."

Charlotte bows in his direction, then opens the interior door, again gesturing Ange through..

"Member?" Ange asks in a quiet voice.

Charlotte smiles. "I have cultivated the image of a young gentleman about town. It is only natural that I join such a club."

"Hm."

 

*-*

 

The room is partitioned with a screen. In one section, tables are set up. Men, occasionally accompanied by ladies, sit and eat light meals. On the other, couches, sofas, divans, and chairs are set up. Men sit and smoke pipes or cigars. One woman lounges here too, a smoldering cigarette between her lips.

Ange frowns uncertainly, but doesn't protest when Charlotte leads her to a table in the far corner. The light touch of her hand on Ange's back draws heat to her cheeks.

Almost as soon as they sit, a waitress comes to their table. Charlotte orders Eggs Benedict and coffee, and Ange, at a loss, asks for the same. When the waitress leaves, Charlotte leans forward

"Well. It has been some time. I apologize for how ... banal this meeting is."

Ange shrugs and smiles. "It's fine. I mean ... its been ten years, so ...."

She is interrupted by the return of the waitress with their orders. After the waitress leaves again, both girls take a moment to take a bite of their food.

"Good," Ange notes, somewhat absently.

"Ange, I have been looking for you. Ten years, as much as I could, considering."

Ange takes another bite then sips her coffee. Its almost as good as the siphon coffee from Café MacBean, but she decides that saying that would seem like deflection. Which, to be fair, it would be.

"I'm at a loss what to say, Princess."

A thin frown darkens Charlotte's expression. "Are you disappointed? Angry?"

"No," Ange says hurridely. "Not in the slightest! I am thrilled to see you again. I mean, I wish the circumstances ... I mean, things could be different."

"Daisy is your lover?" Charlotte says, immediately sipping her coffee.

Ange turns bright red, and hurriedly averts her eyes. "Yes," she says quietly. "I ... I wanted to wait. I mean, we promised .…"

"We promised to remain together forever. And then, life prevented that."

"I wanted to come back, I was just ... unable to."

"I understand. I always understood, I think."

"And ... and you looked for me?"

"Yes. At first, it was only short journeys through London with my cousin, to whom I confessed the entire affair. He made the excuse that he was taking me to see the sights, and such, when in fact we searched where we could for you."

"I was beaten to within an inch of my life, and sent far away for my own safety."

Charlotte winces. "If only I had known. Found you. I don't know what I could have done, but I would have tried anything."

Ange nods slowly. "I know."

"And yet the years passed. I entered Queen's Mayfair Academy, and gained some measure of independence. I hit upon the strategy you see now, and increased the radius of my search. I wish I had gone to that café sooner."

"So do I," Ange says wistfully.

Charlotte regards her for a moment. "Are you happy?"

"Yes!" Ange answers quickly. A bit too quickly, she fears. Her eyes drop, and she again focuses on taking another bite of her eggs.

"Good," Charlotte says.

"I am sorry."

"For what?"

"I just ... I started to wonder what I felt for you, then I started to feel certain. And then Daisy ... she is a very wonderful person, Princess."

"I can tell."

Ange sighs. "but that means that we ...."

"Are friends?"

Ange nods.

"Then so be it, we are friends."

Ange sips her coffee. "And do you have anyone? Perhaps that girl you come to the café with?"

"Beatrice is a dear, precious friend. Yes, I believe she is in love with me."

Ange isn't sure how to react to that, so she focuses on her food.

"She has made no moves to confess to me, so I have made no moves toward her."

"But now? I presume you held back because of me."

"Well," Charlotte says slowly, her cheeks reddening. "Yes. That is true."

"So if we're just friends, nothing stops you, I suppose?"

Charlotte frowns again, and glances idly around the room.

"So what now?" Ange asks. "What will you do?"

"I believe that I shall continue to come to the café."

Ange's smile returns. "Id like that."

"I should also like it if we could meet like this."

Ange's smile widens, glancing briefly at Charlotte's flattened chest. "Like _this_?"

"Well," Charlotte says hastily, cheeks turning brighter red. "Not literally like this. I mean, unless you would like it."

Ange laughs quietly, causing Charlotte's face to turn very red indeed. Ange leans forward, her smile mischievous. "We shall see."

Charlotte coughs, and hurriedly drinks more coffee.

"But," Ange sighs, "I do have to talk to Daisy about this."

"She is jealous of me."

Ange shrugs. "Perhaps. Still, I do need to tell her what we agreed."

"Of course."

They finish their eggs and coffee, and the waitress returns to take their dishes. "Would you care for a cigar, sir?"

"Yes, please."

Ange looks at Charlotte in surprise, but says nothing.

The waitress smiles. "very good sir. And would you care for a cigarette, ma'am?"

"I," Ange begins, glancing at Charlotte uncertainly. Princess says nothing, and her expression remains even. "Yes. Yes, thank you."

The waitress smiles, and walks off.

"You smoke?" Ange asks, obvious surprise in her voice.

"No," Charlotte answers with a shrug. "I never refuse the cigars, and the club has never made a comment about me leaving with them. I would presume that you do not?"

"No, of course not."

They fall silent, as the waitress returns. On her tray is set a selection of cigars and cigarettes of various brands and blends. Ange's eyes widen, and even if she has no intention of actually smoking, she is left puzzled as to what to choose.

"Not a frequent smoker?" the waitress asks with clear amusement.

Ange shakes her head sheepishly.

"Well, I'd recommend the Theophany Silver-band. it's a mild and smooth cigarette, that is especially blended for ladies of refinement."

"Oh," Ange says slowly. She gingerly picks out the indicated white paper cylinder, and holds it in her fingertips, as though afraid it will light on its own if handled too roughly.

 

*-*

 

Ange returns just after noon. She puts on an apron, and goes out to the café. Marilla is there taking an order. There are still a fair number of customers, including several from the Academy.

"Two breads with butter, and a Darjeeling," Marilla says cooly when she notices Ange.

"Right," the young woman responds. She hesitates one moment, but decides she will talk to Marilla once the rush calms down. She takes a deep breath, and heads to the kitchen. Daisy is there. She repeats the order.

"Right," Daisy says. Just as cold as Marilla had been.

Ange's heart is beating heavily. She stands there, watching as Daisy prepares the slices of bread. "I cleared things up."

"Mm." Daisy continues to work, not looking up at Ange until a tray is loaded with the bread and a teacup.

"There will be no further problems," Ange repeats.

"Mm," Daisy says.

Ange decides not to press the issue.

When the last customer leaves the café, Marilla sighs deeply, rubs her face, and turns a dark expression to Ange. "Could've used your help today."

"I had something come up."

"Someone, rather."

Ange and Marilla both turn to see Daisy standing in the doorframe to the back room.

Ange's cheeks turn pink. "I am sorry. It was important."

"We'll discuss it later," Daisy says, her voice terse. "Clean up in here."

"Right," Ange responds.

As she wipes down tables and sweeps the floor, Marilla sits behind the counter watching her. "Someone?"

Ange sighs, and glances up at her. "An old friend came by the café this morning. I requested permission to speak with her."

Marilla nods. "No one I know?"

"No."

"I see. Want a coffee?"

"No thank you," Ange responds, returning to her cleaning.

 

*-*

 

Daisy sends Marilla home early, and though the atmosphere is tense, she says nothing to Ange until after the teatime rush dies down.

"So," she says casually as she locks the door. "No more Princess then?"

Ange swallows. "We agreed to be friends."

"Mm."

"She will continue to come to the café. As a customer."

Daisy pauses her sweeping, to glance at Ange. "So you didn't really resolve anything, then."

Ange clenches her fists together. "As I said, Daisy. She and I agreed to remain friends. You cannot expect me to simply ignore her. Not after so long."

Daisy sighs, and returns to sweeping the floor, as Ange cleans out and shuts down the espresso machine. "I guess not. I guess you two plan to get together though."

"That is what friends do, yes."

Daisy nods slowly. "Alright. I don't suppose I can stop you. Not without you resenting me."

They continue to talk as they carry the left-over pastries from the display case to the freezer.

"I have made my choice, Daisy. I'm not so feeble-willed as to betray your trust."

"Mm."

"You may remember that Marilla and I were friends for some time. Nothing happened between us."

"Yeah."

The prepared dough for bread and pastries are stored for overnight keeping, and Daisy locks up the delivery entrance and shuts out the lights in the kitchen.

"I love you, Daisy."

"Love you too."

They walk up the stairs to the flat. They do not discuss the matter further.

 

*-*

 

Daisy finds herself waking up in the small hours of the night. Ange's head rests on her chest. The girl is warm and soft. Her breath is quiet and even. In the dim light, Daisy can see her face. She is pretty.

She brushes Ange's hair out of her face, and sighs quietly. She wants to believe her. Wants to believe that they will remain together. That's how it is supposed to work.

But, Daisy is cynical enough to feel that she is going to lose. It wouldn't be the first time, would it?

 

*-*

 

Beatrice is dutifully combing out Princess' hair. It's still damp, hanging loose nearly to her shoulders. It smells vaguely of strawberry, thanks to the shampoo that Beatrice had insisted she use.

"So she is romantically involved with that other waitress?"

"Daisy MacBean," Princess says quietly. "She owns the café."

The brush snags on an especially tight knot of hair, making the Princess wince.

"Apologies, Highness!" Beatrice exclaims.

"Do not worry about it."

Beatrice works her fingers through the knot, gently as she can. "Well. I am surprised. I suppose such people don't have the same restraint as we."

Ange frowns. "Restraint?"

"It's unseemly to be in a relationship with a superior, surely?"

"Do you truly believe that, Beato?"

Beatrice's cheeks turn red, and she clears her throat. The knot is worked free, so she resumes the brushing. "I ... I do, yes. Surely you do as well?"

"Perhaps."

"What will you do?"

"Do? I have no reason to refrain from returning to the café."

"Oh! That's good. Then I will not feel guilty returning there either."

Beatrice smooths out the Princess' hair, and sets the brush down on the table.

Charlotte turns to her, with a thin smile. "Thank you, Beato. I do not know what I would do without you."

Beatrice's face turns a shade brighter. "It's my pleasure, Highness."

Charlotte stands, and brushes her fingers against Beatrice's cheek. "It is my pleasure, rather."

Beatrice stammers a moment, and swallows. "Um. Princess. I just think that you deserve to be treated so very well is all."

Charlotte walks over to her bed, sitting down on the edge. "Yes. You show me that every day. Beato, you are loyal to a fault, kind, gentle, and warm."

"Um," Beatrice swallows. "Um."

"You are keeping up your studies?"

Beatrice nods hurriedly. "Yes, Your Highness."

"Good. I would recommend you get a decent night's rest. Tomorrow will be yet another busy day."

"I hope you aren't planning on going back out again."

Princess smiles with amusement, and shakes her head. "No. However, if you wish, we may go to the café for tea tomorrow."

"Ah. Yes, I'd like that, very much!"

"Good night, Beato."

"Good night, Your Highness!"


End file.
